


Chimera

by Dork5ever612



Category: Project Blue Book (TV)
Genre: Alien Character(s), Alien/Human Relationships, Aliens, Alternate Universe - Aliens, Au where they actually communicate, Government Conspiracy, Government Experimentation, How Do I Tag, Kinda?, M/M, Magic, Not Canon Compliant, Superpowers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-03-15
Packaged: 2019-10-30 20:06:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17835299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dork5ever612/pseuds/Dork5ever612
Summary: In 1910, the American Government started an operation calledThe Chimera Project,designed to create a human/alien hybrid in an attempt to start a new species. The project was meant to create a being that could explore space without all of the limitations of human beings, while also appearing human enough to blend in with other humans, by infusing human embryos with alien DNA. In the end only one subject survived long enough to be considered successful— too successful, in fact. The specimen escaped, blending into society and leaving only a trace of evidence of its existence: however, with the initiation ofProject Blue Bookand the recruitment of a certain eccentric professor, how much longer can it stay hidden?





	1. Plain Sight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allen and Michael solve their first case together, and Michael starts to make a list of all the oddities the quirky professor seems to have.

It had been over 20 years since the failure of _The Chimera Project,_ and the higher-ups in the U.S. Air Force were starting to get kinda pissy about it. Of course, he was in no position to say anything— he wasn't even in a high enough position to know what it was— but Quinn was getting really fed up with their behavior. I mean, how would a professor in astrophysics be able to help him with _Project Blue Book?_ And what did that have to do with their missing person?  
  
Whatever, his job was just to take orders and close cases, and right now his orders were to convince that weird, space-obsessed recluse to become his partner.  
  
He paced the office, glancing up sharply when he heard the door open. He watched the older man enter, smiling and offering a hand.  
  
“Dr. Hynek, thank you for coming.”  
  
“Ah, of course. So, what can I help you with Captain…?”  
  
“Quinn, Michael Quinn. I would like for you to take a second to observe the board. What do you see?”  
  
“Er…” he turned, staring at the mass of news articles, maps, and images as Quinn moved to point one out.  
  
“July of '47, Roswell, New Mexico. Are you familiar with it?”  
  
“Yeah, this was that crashed Army weather balloon.”  
  
“Do you remember the first reports?” Quinn remarked as he stepped away, reaching for another file.  
  
“ _Invasion of the Spacemen._ News wouldn't shut up about it.” Hynek turned, watching the captain curiously and looking around the room, fidgeting a bit with the sleeves of his jacket.  
  
“Yeah, when that story hit, it jammed phone lines nationwide— even broke a few switchboards in the process. _War of the Worlds_ all over again. Who could forget that?” Quinn smiled easily, turning back to the professor with another folder in his hands.  
  
“Uh, you said on the phone that this concerned my research.” The doctor stated, visibly confused as he was handed more news reports.  
  
“Indianapolis, '48 A man sees strange lights, calls the cops. Papers catch on, the whole town goes nuts. Turns out to be migrating geese. Oregon, '49 Fisherman swears he sees a metallic disk covering a state park. It turns out to be a water tower.” He paused, flipping through his own folder to pull out an image. “Uh, about two weeks ago in Manhattan, a college kid sees this _unearthly anomaly._ Do you know what that is, Doc?”  
  
“That's the moon.” The professor states, staring at the captain incredulously.  
  
“Bingo. It took four Coast Guard vessels combing the Hudson for two days to arrive at that same astute determination.” Quinn reached into a cabinet, pulling out a couple glasses and a bottle of booze. “That is why you're here. Our nation is suffering from a form of mass hysteria right now, one we can't afford. Not with Russia breathing down our necks and a nuclear arms race on the brink of disaster.”  
  
“When people panic, communication channels jam, police can't do their jobs, and the border patrol literally chases the moon.” He poured two glasses, walking around and offering one to Hynek as he spoke, sitting on the edge of his desk. “How would you like to help the U.S. Air Force instill rational scientific thinking back into our public consciousness again?”  
  
Hynek stood silent for a moment, Quinn smirking and clinking their glasses together.  
  
“Um, how?”  
  
“For starters, come with me to Fargo. Pilot there by the name of Henry Fuller claims to have gotten into a dogfight with an alien spacecraft.” He pulled a file from behind him, handing it to the professor, who looked at it for a moment before looking back at the captain, fidgeting slightly and speaking slowly, as if trying to comprehend the situation.  
  
“You want me to investigate flying saucers?”  
  
“I want you to help me prove to the public the truth. They don't exist.”  
  
Dr. Hynek let out a subtle sigh, his shoulders relaxing, smiling slightly at the incredulity of it all.  
  
“Captain, I already have a full-time job, and a grant that I'm applying for, and a life to live. Thank you for the offer, but this is really not my field.” He handed back the file, heading towards the door. Ok, fine. He's gonna play hard to get.  
  
Quinn sighed dramatically, loud enough for the professor to hear.  
  
“Thought you were smarter than that.” He smiled mischievously when the other man paused and spun on his heel. “Genius is what I was told. In my experience, that doesn't always mean intelligent.”  
  
He stuck a cigarette in his mouth, lighting it as Hynek questioned him.  
  
“What are you trying to say, Captain?”  
  
“I'm trying to say I think you're missing out on a great opportunity here.”  
  
“I just told you this wasn't my field.”  
  
“You think I started out here? I was a pilot in the Air Force, 10 years. Flew countless missions during the War, that was my field. Never imagined I'd be doing this. But you know why I did it?” He walked towards the doctor, challenging him with a slight smirk. There was no way he was backing out now. “Because this is a chance to show the world the truth. Kind of like Newton did when he proved the world was round.”  
  
“Pythagoras.”  
  
“Come again?”  
  
“Pythagoras was the first to suggest the Earth was round. Newton is better known for discovering the law of gravity—” He paused, studying the captain with a smile. “But you knew that already, didn't you? You are good at this. Persuasion.”  
  
Quinn looked away, smiling at the compliment. Maybe this guy really was smarter than he looked.  
  
“I studied a little psychology. It's how I got the job. I know people.”  
  
“Then tell me this. If these… _saucers_ don't exist, then why so many reports? Why are people lying about what they see in the skies?” Hynek strutted past him, gesturing at the news clippings on the board.  
  
“I never said they were lying. I just think they're misinformed. But if they had the right teacher, someone they can trust, who can help clarify what's really going on up there…” He stepped forward, gesturing to the professor as he spoke.  
  
That was the final nail in the coffin. Hynek made to leave, pausing in the doorway and turning back, defeated.  
  
“Okay, Captain. But I have three conditions: One, I keep my job here at the university,”  
  
Quinn shrugged, and nodded curtly, urging the man to go on.  
  
“Second, I get paid for the work I do— and I mean a real, reasonable paycheck, not something like 5 cents an hour! Something I can use to help secure the grant for my satellite tracking camera.”  
  
“Sounds fair.”  
  
“Lastly, I want… I want recognition for my work.”  
  
“Recognition?”  
  
“Yes! The study of the flying saucers has never been done before—”  
  
“Because they're not real.” The captain cut in, arching an eyebrow at the strange man.  
  
“Yes, but that's never been proven. Not scientifically. With my credibility, I can do that! And maybe even get what my heroes: Galileo, Kepler never did! Recognition in my own lifetime.” He spoke wistfully, a dreamy look on his face as he imagined it.  
  
The captain nodded his head, considering the terms. All in all, not too bad— and far from unreasonable. He smiled, shaking the man's hand and watching his smile grow until it was practically splitting his face in half.  
  
“Alright. You've got yourself a deal, Doc.”  
  
The doctor thanked him, fleeing his office in an excited haze. One thing was for sure: things were going to get far more interesting with him around.  
Something confused the captain, though: why had the man seemed so… _nervous,_ through almost the whole interview? After a while he just shrugged and chalked it up to another one of the man's oddities.  
  
👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽  
  
When Quinn went to pick up the professor, he walked out alone, locking the door behind him. The captain figured the man had no family, or perhaps they were already in bed. He decided to save that topic for further investigation.  
  
Through the following day he noticed a few more things about Hynek that seemed a bit… odd. He focused on things so intently sometimes— like when he first saw Fuller, or when he investigated the plane. The victim seemed unusually unnerved by his presence, despite his gentle and kind approach. He was inhumanly intelligent in some ways, in others he seemed downright stupid, and he seemed… oddly fascinated by the whole investigation. Like he knew something Quinn was ignorant to.  
  
Long story short, the weird recluse seemed way weirder than he initially thought. Especially since he just sat there and ignored his perfectly good slice of pie.  
  
He shook his head, walking to the counter to pay for the meal that the professor had completely neglected, making idle chit-chat with the cashier.  
  
“Crazy about that saucer, eh? Whole town's on edge about it.”  
  
“Everyone that comes in here, that's all they want to talk about.” The woman smiled, shaking her head as if she weren't interested as well.  
  
“Well, you can tell them all it was just a weather balloon. No aliens in Fargo right now.” He smiled, about to walk away, but her final sentence caught him off guard.  
  
“Yeah, that we know of.”  
  
He suddenly had a stupid thought— a _very_ stupid thought. What if Allen was really…? But that's ridiculous. Aliens aren't real. Flying saucers aren't real. Hynek is just… odd. That's all.  
When he got back to their table, Hynek was going on about some strange calculations he'd done on a bunch of napkins, the information flying right past his ears as he registered the subtext of the explanation.  
  
 _“You're wrong_ . _”_  
  
“What are you saying?”  
  
“Did you just put on that song?” The professor blinked, seemingly being pulled from his thoughts by the song.  
  
“Yeah, why?”  
  
“In your notes, you said that Fuller said the song— _that_ song told him that he was in danger. And you just put it on.”  
  
“I don't know what you're getting at there, but song, no song: it was a weather balloon.”  
  
“But on paper—”  
  
Ok, this was starting to get irritating.  
  
“On paper is not the same as being up in a fighter plane 5,000 feet in the air traveling 200 miles an hour.”  
  
“I am just trying to find a reasonable explanation for the evidence that we have.”  
  
“You have a reasonable explanation. Me.”  
  
“Well, take me up and prove me wrong. You show me what a weather balloon looks like at 5,000 feet and I will agree with you and write the report. But until then, the math says otherwise.”  
  
“You want to play chicken at three g's just to prove a point? All right. I'll take you on a ride. Show you what those numbers really mean.” He huffed, his temper getting the best of him.  
  
Oh no. What did he just get himself into?  
  
👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽  
  
“So, the weather-service guy sent a balloon up a couple hours ago. Weather's a little choppy, but we should be able to recreate Fuller's exact—” Quinn paused, watching the doctor fiddle with his zipper in frustration, stepping forward and reaching to zip it for him as he rolled his eyes. “All right, I got you. You a little nervous, maybe?”  
  
“I'm not nervous.” Hynek contested nervously. He turned abruptly to grab his jacket, and Quinn reciprocated with a disbelieving smile.  
  
“Okay.”  
  
“...Maybe a little.”  
  
“This is Fuller's account of the incident. Read it aloud once we're up there. That way we can recreate his exact maneuvers.” He handed Hynek a file, which he flipped through quickly before pushing it aside.  
  
“I've already read this file and memorized its contents.” He memorized it in less than a day? Highly unlikely. Quinn stared at him for a moment, looking him up and down as his odd behaviour flashed to his mind. _That we know of_...  
  
“You sure you're not the alien?” He teased, only partially serious. What if?  
  
But Hynek didn't seem too impressed, staring at him for a second in… surprise? Confusion? Before shaking his head with a nervous laugh.  
  
“Well, maybe I am.” He smiled with mock confidence, but his voice was shaking, and he left the room a bit too quickly. Something about him just didn't add up…  
  
👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽  
  
As of yet, the ride was uneventful, aside from the rising storm they had to fly through to get to the weather balloon. Despite everything going smoothly, the doctor was uncharacteristically quiet. Quinn almost wished he could see the man, so he could try to read him.  
  
“You're awfully quiet back there, Doc. You all right?”  
  
“Just fine, thanks.” Hynek lied through his teeth. He sounded like he was about to pass out.  
  
“Might be a little bumpy if we got to go through this storm.”  
  
“Should we just turn back?” the professor suggested anxiously.  
  
“No, we're all right. Hey, you're wearing that parachute, right?”  
  
“Ha, ha.” He barked out a fake laugh, falling silent for another moment. “Hey, Captain?”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“With all the time you've logged in the air, you've never once come across something you can't explain?”  
  
“There's a lot of guys I know who claim they've seen lights. _Foo Fighters,_ they called them when we were over there. Me personally? No. Nothing.” He replied easily, seemingly confident in his firm belief that the supernatural didn't exist.  
  
It wasn't long before he saw the balloon floating just ahead through the clouds. Time to see if the professor really knew what he was doing: and Quinn, for that matter.  
  
“All right. There it is. You ready with Fuller's flight sequence?”  
  
“I'm ready.”  
  
“From the top.”  
  
“After he saw the ball of light, he did a 4 g dive to get under it—”  
  
“4 g's? Better hold onto your lunch.” It was partially a joke, mostly a warning. He needed to let the other man know what they were dealing with.  
  
He thrusted the joystick forward, sending the plane into a dive below and around the balloon. He heard Hynek shout, and felt the doctor fumble forward, hands brushing the back of his seat, feeling only slightly guilty for his actions.  
  
Hynek spoke up once the plane levelled out, watching the light of the balloon pass beside them.  
  
“He saw the light speeding past. That's when he pulled hard rudder.”  
  
Quinn complied, directing the plane in a u-turn. He heard the professor groan into his headset at the change of pressure.  
  
“I thought you said this was impossible!”  
  
“Don't worry, I got this!” Quinn replied, trying to reassure himself just as much as anyone else, stupidly trying to turn and make sure his partner was ok.  
  
“Captain! Stop! Look out!”  
  
He processed Allen's words a second too late, the wing of the plane connecting with the metal on the weather balloon. He tried his best to regain control but it was too late. The plane was going down.  
  
“What's happening?!” Hynek shouted, hands scrambling for something to hold.  
  
“We're going down. Brace yourself, Doc!” Quinn shouted back, steering them towards a safer landing.  
  
Hands grasped the shoulders of his jacket, and he swore he felt the air shift and become… static. Like the atmosphere in the cockpit got electrocuted somehow. Not only that, but it seemed like it was illuminated by something behind them: a light green aura filling the plane as his receiver emitted static, and… music?  
  
He kept his eyes towards the ground, confused when it seemed to be approaching _slower_ rather than faster. Shouldn't they be accelerating as they fell? Whatever, it doesn't matter. He shut his eyes and braced for impact.  
  
👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽  
  
Quinn sat to the side and watched the professor sleep, deep in thought.  
  
Nothing about that crash made sense. The light, the static, the _music?_ And just how did they manage to come out of it with only minor injuries?  
  
Of course, it was partially due to his attempt to rectify the situation and give them as soft a landing as possible, but there was something _more_ to it. Even in a best case scenario, they should have walked out with far more than a broken arm and a minor concussion.  
  
Slowly, Hynek began to wake up, groaning slightly in pain as he sat up, staring at the captain.  
  
“You're okay.” He remarked groggily, smiling. He seemed relieved, but not surprised. He was squinting quite a bit more than normal in the dim sunlight.  
  
“Well.” Quinn shrugged, looking at his broken arm and dragging on his cigarette as the doctor reached for his glasses. He seemed to be doing pretty well.  
  
“What happened to us?”  
  
“Well, not to get all technical about it, but— we crashed.”  
  
“How could you do that to us? I told you to stop!” Hynek huffed, seeming more disgruntled than truly angry. Funny— he thought the professor would be more upset with him for endangering both of their lives.  
  
“You told me you wanted to prove your theory.”  
  
“Yeah, well, I think you were trying to prove something else!”  
  
“Look, I did what you asked me to do. I tried duplicating Fuller's moves, which are _impossible._ And if I wasn't as good a pilot as I am, we would've been killed.”  
  
“Oh, and that's supposed to make me feel better?”  
  
“I was fine with what we found. I said close the case.” He practically snarled at the other man, tired of dealing with all of his… weirdness.  
  
“Yeah, well, maybe that's why the Air Force wanted me here. Because you— you let things slide too easily.”  
  
Hynek stood up, shuffling groggily away from the hospital bed.  
  
“Where are you going?”  
  
He heard the man pause just behind him, before picking back up in his escape.  
  
“To call my wife.”  
  
He could've sworn Hynek wasn't married… but he decided to ignore it. He didn't want to deal with any of this right now.  
  
He stood up, moving to stand by the window, still reeling over what happened that night. The things he heard, felt— they were almost too similar to the reports he'd spent the past few years studying. Could he be going down the same path as Fuller, and those men he knew in the war?  
  
He didn't turn when he heard footsteps approaching. _Not Hynek's, who cares?_ That was, until he heard a familiar voice.  
  
“Captain.” He turned sharply, marching over and fixing General Harding with a stiff salute. “At ease.”  
  
“General, no one mentioned you were coming.”  
  
“Well, I certainly wasn't planning on it. Until they told me that you crashed a plane. Where's the professor?”  
  
“Sorry, if— if I may? First? That plane had a f— faulty service record, that no one told me about—”  
  
“Oh, shut up. What the hell were you doing up there in the first place?” The General seemed calm, but his gaze was cold and angry. He'd fucked up.  
  
“Testing a theory.”  
  
“What? That the Air Force doesn't know what it's doing? Need I remind you of our purpose here? The first thing I told you in our meeting?”  
  
“Flying saucers don't exist.”  
  
“That's right. This professor, is he bossing you around or something?” He pretended he was joking, prodding the captain's arm and smirking. He didn't believe any of it.  
  
“No, sir.”  
  
“Well, then, stop indulging his bullshit. I want to go talk to this Airman Fuller.”  
  
“I needed to disprove his theory, sir.” Quinn interjected, the General turning and meeting him with a steely glare, not bothering to hide his anger as he approached  
  
“I don't need you disproving a theory. I need you to write reports and close cases. And if you can't, I'll find someone else who can.” He smiled, saluting lightly in spite of his harsh words. “Captain.”  
  
As the General left, Quinn let his shoulders fall limp, trying desperately to swallow the knot in his throat.  
  
God, what had he done?  
  
👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽  
  
It was late. Far too late for him to still be at work; and yet, there he was, picking up a phone at almost one in the morning. “Quinn.”  
  
“You're there.” Hynek's voice filtered through the line, relieved.  
  
“Yeah, I just got in. I came to pick up a few things. What's going on?” He lied. He just couldn't let the doctor know he was still thinking about what happened, how any of it was possible.  
  
“There's something you need to know. The song that Fuller heard from San Diego? It's— he was telling the truth. I just confirmed it with the radio station.”  
  
“Don't start with this again.” The captain sighed, aching to rub his temples with his injured arm.  
  
“It's not just the song. I think—” He paused, hesitant. He spoke slowly and deliberately when he picked back up. “I think there's something more going on, that's connected to what's happened.”  
  
“What do you mean connected?” He asked, earnestly wanting to hear what the professor wanted to say, even if he wasn't allowed to believe it. He was met with only silence. “Doc?”  
  
“You know what, I'm— I'm wrong. I'm overthinking this. The case is closed.”  
  
“What are you not telling me right now?” _What haven't you been telling me this whole time?_  
  
“Captain, I have to go. We can talk about this later. Have a good night.” He rushed through the last few sentences, hanging up before Quinn could ask him what was wrong.  
  


He sighed, dropping the phone onto its receiver and running his hand through his hair. What the _hell_ was up with that weird doctor?  
   
He needed to find out.


	2. Confrontation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael confronts Allen about his experiences in the plane before they head off to solve their second case.

Quinn had left for Hynek's house early the day they received their next case, still thinking about the events of their previous investigation. He needed to get there early so they could talk; he needed to know if Hynek had the same experiences he had in that plane. He wasn't ready to talk about it before, but it had caused so many sleepless nights. He couldn't deal with it anymore.  
   
So he strode up to the house early that morning, knocking on the door and waiting. No response.  
   
He halfway expected a wife or kid to open the door, but all he could hear was a distant shuffling sound, like someone was going through their bookshelf.  
   
He knocked again, louder this time, stepping back a bit when he heard Dr. Hynek shout in response, footsteps running frantically around the house.  
   
A few seconds later the door was swung open, the doctor standing behind it, looking a bit frazzled. Quinn smiled at him politely  
  
“Hey, Doc.”  
   
“Captain. Uh, why don't you come in?” Hynek stepped aside, gesturing for Quinn to enter and shutting the door behind him.  
   
He looked about the room— a bit messy, with papers and books everywhere, but otherwise impressive for a single man on the budget of a college professor.  
   
Speaking of which, he'd looked into the professor's file not too long ago, not really shocked to find that he wasn't married. However, that did mean he'd lied at the infirmary and run off to do something else. Probably something stupid.  
   
“Nice place. I'd ask about the wife, but it seems you never had one.”  
   
“E— Excuse me?”  
   
“Your file. Based on census history it shows you never married. You lied to me in the infirmary.”  
   
“Quinn, I can explain—”  
   
“Don't worry, I know you just went to talk with Fuller. The point I'm trying to make is that you shouldn't lie like that to me. We're partners now, we gotta learn how to trust each other.”  
   
“Right, like I could trust you when you almost killed us in that plane crash?”  
   
Michael sighed, shaking his head and turning back to the professor.  
   
“Are you really not gonna let that go? I told you, I had the situation completely under control.”  
   
“Control?! If I hadn't been there you— ugh!!” He buried his face in his hands, crying out in exasperation.  
   
“I what?” The captain questioned, stepping towards the other man, anticipating an answer.  
   
“Nothing. It's nothing, just… What are you doing here?”  
   
Quinn sighed, still reluctant to say anything. He'd just sound crazy…  
   
“Actually, I wanted to ask about that night. The crash. When we were falling, did you notice anything… unusual?”  
   
“Not really, I was passed out.” His eyes darted around the room, focusing on the floor.  
   
“Riiight, and when you were unconscious you somehow managed to grab my arms with the strength of an ox.” He rolled his eyes. “I told you, I can read people. I know when you're lying; and you're a _terrible_ liar.”  
   
Hynek sputtered for a minute, trying to form a coherent explanation. After a moment he gave up, sulking and walking past Quinn, into the kitchen.  
   
“I'll talk in a bit, just— do you want some coffee or something? I think I need coffee.”  
   
“Sure, I'll have a cup.” He sat at the counter, clearing a spot for his mug as Hynek mechanically made a pot of coffee, pouring two mugs and setting them on the counter. He filled his cup with cream, offering it to the captain wordlessly.  
   
“No thanks. I like mine black.”  
   
“Of course you do.” He grumbled, shoving it back into the fridge and taking a long sip of his drink, sighing contentedly into the mug.  
   
“So, what did you see? Or— experience, I guess.”  
   
“I don't know, there… there was this soft green light, the pressure in the cabin changed and…we crashed.” He shrugged, staring into his coffee.  
   
“That was it? You didn't notice anything else?”  
   
“I told you, I— I wasn't in my right mind, Captain. That's all I noticed.”  
   
Quinn stared at his cup for a second, confused and… worried.  
   
“Listen Doc, I think I'm going crazy, and I need to know if you— if you saw and heard the same things as me, you _need_ to tell me because I swear it was like…” He shook his head, trying to dislodge this anxiety, this _fear,_ that he was just as crazy as Fuller. “Like the plane just… slowed down. Like someone or something was trying to save us from that crash, because there's no way we would've walked away with such minor injuries otherwise. And there was this _static,_ and my headset—”  
   
He paused, looking up into Hynek's eyes, wide-eyed and shaken.  
   
“I swear, it sounded like music…”  
   
Hynek's eyes widened and his breath caught in his throat. His head darted away from Michael's face, eyes flitting about as he sat, silently. The knot in Quinn's throat only tightened. He almost couldn't breath.  
   
“Have you… heard of _The Chimera Project?_ ” the doctor finally spoke, glancing at Quinn to gauge his reaction.  
   
“I've _heard_ of it. Don't know much. Why? How do you know about it?”  
   
“Nevermind. All that matters right now is, you're not crazy. Ok?”  
   
“But, why— how do you know? What if what happened to Fuller is happening to me, and I'm gonna end up permanently enrolled in some mad house?”  
   
“You're not! I heard it too, ok? But as far as we know it was just a glitch, or some tones in the static that sounded like a melody.”  
   
“But what about the plane? It couldn't just decelerate out of nowhere like that, and I couldn't have just imagined it!”  
   
“Look, it doesn't matter, ok? What matters is that we're alive, and we're going to be alright. We just need to move on.”  
   
Quinn sighed, shaking his head. Everything just wasn't right. They should be dead, or at the very least still hospitalized, but they were perfectly fine. And that song… he knew that song. It couldn't have just been random noise in the static. And why was Dr. Hynek suddenly so adamant that there was nothing paranormal about the whole thing, when just the other day he was insisting just the opposite?  
   
“Why are you still hiding something from me?” He mumbled, not meaning for the words to come out.  
   
Hynek sighed, fiddling with his mug.  
   
“Sometimes things are better kept hidden, I guess.”  
   
👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽  
   
They spent the evening together, just sitting in companionable silence, drinking their coffee and gathering their thoughts.  
   
Allen turned on the radio at some point, letting the soothing sound waves of Frank Sinatra's _“Fly Me to the Moon”_ fill the air, offhandedly remarking that it was his favorite song. After a long while of the two just listening, Michael cleared his throat, pulling a file out of his jacket and handing it to the doctor. As Hynek flipped through the papers, Quinn took their cups to the sink and helped Allen gather his things.  
   
“Well, we got another case this morning. General called me just before I left. Flight's probably left by now though. We'll have to drive.”  
  
“Where are we going?”  
   
“West Virginia. Seems a woman and her kids saw a spaceship crash down near their farm. Claimed they saw the alien that was piloting it, too.”  
   
Allen sighed, shuffling into his office to gather what he would need for the case, giving Quinn a nod when he was ready to leave. Once they started driving, Hynek read the file aloud to the both of them.  
  
“So, according to the mother's account, she and her children saw something red streak across the sky. When they went to investigate, they came across a spaceship and an… _alien,_ 10 feet tall.”  
  
He paused, turning to Quinn inquisitively.  
   
“Do people normally report aliens?”  
   
“No, they do not. Not since Roswell. There's something that's not in that file. After folks in town heard Sara's story, they put together this militia to hunt down the _space creature._ "  
   
“You're kidding.” he stared at Quinn, eyes wide and slightly panicked.  
  
“When they didn't find one, they turned on her.”  
  
“On Sara? Why?”  
   
“Basic psychology. Fight or flight. They don't find an alien, they figure Sara's a liar, caused a panic. So what's she really after?” There was a beat of silence, Hynek looking dazed and slightly confused. “If there's no good answer, then she becomes the monster.”  
   
Allen looked away, gaze drifting out the window again, where they stayed for most of the long drive. Michael kept stealing glances at the other man, completely in his own head as he watched the country speed by.  
   
“Why do you keep doing that?”  
   
Hynek snapped to attention, turning to the captain with furrowed brows.  
   
“Doing what?”  
   
“Staring out the window like that. You stuck in your head or something?”  
   
“No, I just— I'm just… admiring the scenery.”  
   
“Doc, it's just farms and houses. Haven't you seen enough of those already?”  
   
“Well, yeah, but I still like seeing them. Noticing the subtle shifts in the ecosystems as we get further from home, the way the sun casts a warm orange hue over the land as it sets. I don't think I could ever get tired of seeing it.” He smiled dreamily, turning to look out the window again.  
   
Quinn turned too, noticing how the sun gave Hynek a soft orange glow. He was right— it was beautiful.  
   
👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽  
  
“Is that the militia?” Hynek asked timidly, shrinking back in his seat as they approached the crowd.  
   
“Jesus. I didn't realize they were camped out at her house. Let me handle this.” Quinn leaned out the window, a large smile plastered on his face as he addressed the men outside. “Hello there, sir. Just trying to get through.”  
  
“Who are you?” A scruffy looking man approached the car, staring distrustfully at the men.  
   
“Government business, Chief. Step aside.”  
  
“Sara call you? That woman's crazy, you know? She put the whole town in a panic.”  
  
“Well, we're trying to fix that.”  
  
“Like your boys did in Roswell, huh?”  
   
Soon they heard the sound of approaching sirens, a cop car pulling up behind them.  
   
“All of you, back away from there! God damn it, Donnie!” The officer shouted as he approached, the previous man quickly ducking his head and backing off.  
   
“J— Just sayin’ hello.”  
   
The officer stared at the crowd for a moment, making sure no one caused any trouble while he had a private chat with the strangers.  
  
“I know why you boys are here. So how long is this gonna take?”  
   
Michael opened his mouth to answer, but was quickly stopped when Allen cut in.  
   
“We haven't assessed anything yet, Captain. I'm afraid we can't answer that.”  
   
Quinn pressed his lips together, turning away from the policeman as he stared at Hynek as if he'd just personally offended him.  
  
“Well you just hurry up, then. Let 'em through!”  
   
The crowd parted, opening the gate for the pilot. Quinn was the first to exit the vehicle, shaking his head slightly and turning to his partner.  
   
“Next time, Doc, let me do the talking.”  
   
Hynek nodded, ducking his head and following Quinn up the rickety stairs of the porch, knocking lightly on the glass door. A frightened woman pulled back the curtain, looking at them wearily. Quinn tried to give her his best smile.  
  
“Sara, it's Captain Quinn. We spoke on the telephone.”  
   
She stared wordlessly, eyes flitting cautiously between the two of them.  
   
“This is Dr. Hynek. We work together.”  
   
“You're a doctor?” She leaned forward, eyes lighting up a bit when he nodded in response. She opened the door for them, leading them through the dimly lit house to an even darker stairwell, grabbing a small lamp at the bottom.  
   
“Mind your heads. I gotta keep it dark down here. The light hurts their eyes now.” She explained while she led them to a massive curtain, dividing the room. “They started complaining about it just after we saw that thing in the woods after the spaceship crashed.”  
  
“Mama?” A small boy's voice called timidly as she pulled the curtain aside, kneeling to comfort him.  
   
“It's all right. There's a city doctor here now.”  
   
The two men stepped closer, staring— er, _examining_ — the children as they stepped into the dim light. Their faces were covered in blisters, mostly around their foreheads and eyes.  
   
Allen leaned in and brought the lamp closer, trying to get a better look in the limited lighting. The children flinched away, making pained noises as the doctor steadied them with a gentle hand. Once he noticed their discomfort he turned the lamp off, removing his glasses— his eyes looked like they were glowing in the dim light.  
   
“Didn't affect me, but they just keep getting worse. Doctor, please tell me what's happening with my babies.”  
   
The duo looked to each other, equally confused by the condition. Hynek moved to the kitchen upstairs to take care of the kids in better lighting, Quinn talking to the mother in the next room. He could only partially focus on her words, though, as he watched the doctor interact with the children.  
   
He was so gentle with them, holding them in place with one hand as the other applied antiseptic with a q-tip. He smiled softly as they spoke to him, replying with something that made them giggle amongst themselves. By the time they were done the kids looked much better, the redness and swelling having gone down a considerable amount; more than they should with just a bit of antiseptic ointment. The professor, on the other hand, looked exhausted, like he'd had the energy just sucked out of him.  
   
He took a seat beside Quinn, wiping his hands with his handkerchief and turning his attention to the mother, letting Quinn ask the first question.  
  
“On the night this took place, what exactly was the first thing that you remember?”  
   
“Well the kids saw the spaceship first. By the time I got there, it had already crashed. Set the whole forest on fire. The monster it had these big, round eyes: looked almost human, but it was so tall. I— It might've been trying to talk to us, but we just ran…”  
  
“Miss Downing, could you take us to where this all happened?”  
  
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“This is it. This is the spot.” Sara muttered once they reached a scorched clearing in the woods. The men looked around, Hynek appearing lost in thought as the woman described the encounter  
   
“After we ran from the monster, we saw parts of the spacecraft scattered all around. One of them must've been the engine 'cause it was still glowin' when we saw it. Like a ragin' red diamond… Y'all must think I'm crazy.”  
  
“No, no, not at all.” Quinn assured, turning to look at her.  
  
“Thank you, Miss Downing. We'll take it from here.” Hynek mumbled as he pulled a camera out of his bag, the woman's footsteps receding into the forest as the men stared at the wreckage.  
  
“Geez. What happened here?” The captain remarked sadly, looking around at the destruction.  
   
“Captain?”  
   
“Yeah.” The two agreed almost wordlessly, walking further into the burnt trees, Hynek kneeling to examine the ground, palm pressed flat against it.  
   
“Surface soil's loose. This entire area's been jolted somehow. Like an earthquake.”  
  
“I thought you just studied the sky.”  
  
“When I was seven, I, uh— I contracted a severe case of scarlet fever. Didn't leave my bed for almost a year. I read the entire _Encyclopedia Britannica,_ Twice.”  
   
The pilot shook his head, smirking. God, what an _Allen_ thing to say. He turned away, trying to think of an explanation.  
  
“Hey, Doc. This was a forest fire. Someone probably dropped a cigarette, place went up, kids saw a branch fall or something.” He paused when he saw the doctor examining a tree, standing on a nearby stump. “You see something?”  
   
Hynek snapped a picture of the branches, waving the photo about for a second. “What you got there?”  
   
He stepped back down, glancing at the photo before handing it and the camera to Quinn, shedding his jacket.  
   
“Hold this— and this.”  
  
“Uh, yeah.” Michael took the items, watching Allen climb to the top of the tree.  
  
“It's like I thought. These branches, they're broken from impact, not fi—” He paused, staring at something in the distance that Quinn couldn't see. While he wasn't looking the branch beneath the doctor snapped, throwing him to the ground.  
   
Quinn stepped forward, trying to ensure that the doctor was alright. It wasn't a very far fall, but he worried nonetheless, breathing a quiet sigh of relief when he sat up.  
   
“Guess your _Britannica_ didn't teach you about climbing trees, huh? You okay?”  
   
Allen stared at the spot where he saw something, breathing heavily in exertion and fear. “Yeah…”  
   
👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽  
   
Hynek brought something back from the car, waving the strange, clicking device around the area.  
  
“What is that?” Quinn asked, leaning against a relatively stable tree as he watched the other man work.  
   
“Geiger counter.”  
  
“What do you need a Geiger counter for?”  
  
“27.” He muttered, approaching a pile of sticks. “This is extremely elevated. Captain, can you help?”  
   
The two bent over, quickly pulling the still-smoking branches off of a strange glowing object. Michael stepped back, uneasy. If those kids could be practically blinded by that thing, he didn't want to be anywhere near it.  
   
“What the hell is that?”  
   
“ _That_ is part of the alien spaceship. Or, as Sara called it, the _red diamond._ ”  
   
The two looked at each other for a second. Quinn needed to call the Air Force and tell them about their discovery. In less than an hour the place was covered in scientists, soldiers, and helicopters, all working to remove the glowing hunk of rock. Michael… didn't really get it. All this over a stupid rock?  
   
He stood by, giving one of the men the details, as Hynek practically raced past them, making his way to one of the trucks. Quinn rolled his eyes and followed suit, stopping just ahead of him to block his path.  
   
“Hey, Doc, Just let 'em work!”  
  
“I just want to be sure they know to check its isotopic composition.”  
  
“They're professionals.” He deadpanned, watching the doctor's eyes drift behind him.  
  
“What's under the tarp?”  
   
“Come on, we gotta get back, let Sara and the kids know we're done here, release a statement to the press.” He stated, shaking his head and making his way back to the car.  
  
“Come on, Doc. Let's go!”  
   
👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽  
  
Hynek spoke to the family as Quinn stoked a fire in their little furnace, trying to offset the early autumn chill. He listened as the doctor told the story— he had quite a flare for the dramatics.  
   
“The red streak across the sky, the fire in the woods that started at the treetops, the pungent mist, all of it does point to something extraterrestrial.”  
  
“Lord, I knew it!” Sara muttered enthusiastically, the kids smiling as they were assured they were right. Quinn just couldn't let that slide.  
  
“It was a meteor.” he chimed in, sliding into place beside Allen. Their faces dropped, looking to the doctor for answers.  
  
“What made everyone sick were arsenic fumes. The skin burns could have come from the level of radiation present if it was uranium or thorium. Even if you didn't touch it, the area was toxic enough to have had that effect. But the good news is that it's temporary. You are all going to be fine!” He explained optimistically, trying to lighten the mood  
  
“But what about what we saw? A meteor can't explain that.”  
  
“Well, I didn't say that it did. And I'm not trying to discredit your account. I'm just taking things in a step-by-step—”  
   
“Hey, Doc. Can we—” Quinn pulled him into the next room, trying to end the discussion as quickly and efficiently as possible. “We have what we need to write up the report and close the case.”  
  
“Not everything.”  
  
“You found a meteor. What more are we looking for here?”  
   
“Something to explain the creature. You read the case file. There was one other witness!”  
   
He sighed, tired. He really hated bickering like this but everything with Hynek was so— complicated.  
  
“Hey, is this really how it's gonna be with you?”  
   
The doctor shrugged emphatically, making his way back into the other room to finish consulting the witnesses. Quinn held his head, walking outside to start the car.  
   
Once Hynek was done at the Downing house, the two drove to the local psych ward, where their other witness was held. The place was unsettling, with the shouts and pleading of mental patients everywhere. Quinn tried not to stare as the orderly lead them to her room.  
   
“We told Evelyn you were coming, but I'm not sure what you'll get. She still thinks Lincoln's president sometimes.” He sighed, standing by the door as the partners stepped into the room, watching the elderly lady by the window.  
  
“Miss Myers?” Hynek started, standing far too close to the woman for Michael's comfort and adjusting his glasses.  
   
“Evelyn.” Quinn tried, still getting no response aside from a slow turn in their direction. Creepy…  
  
“Miss Myers, my name is Dr. Hynek. We're from Washington. We understand that you saw a— an entity of some sort a few days ago that you reported to the authorities? Is this what you saw?” Hynek pulled the child's drawing from his jacket, the older woman stepping closer to look at it. Quinn stepped forward too, ready to attack if she made any sudden movements. Instead she stared emotionlessly at the paper, speaking almost robotically.  
   
“Yes, that was it. And when I looked into its eyes, it showed me the end of all things.” She turned slowly back to the window, and Quinn was quick to react, trying to leave as soon as possible.  
  
“Okay, Miss Myers, thank you for your time.”  
  
“The others that came to see me before you believed me.”  
   
He wanted to leave. He wanted to leave _so bad,_ but Hynek stopped. He couldn't leave his partner behind.  
  
“What others?”  
   
“The men in hats. They were scared. So should you be.”  
   
Allen stared blankly as she spoke, just like he had earlier that day. His hands were shaking, and something inside of Quinn ached to reach out and hold them: and he did, if only to pull the older man out of there.  
   
👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽  
  
“We learned a valuable lesson today here, Doc. When I say a case is closed, it's closed. And we are never coming back to West Virginia.” Michael rambled idly, sipping from his beer and watching the people around them shoot them disapproving glances.  
   
Allen seemed lost in thought again, not even touching his drink as he glanced around the room nervously.  
   
“Beer's getting cold.” He tried, hoping to get the salt-and-peppered brunet's attention. “It's a joke. Hey!”  
  
“You really think those kids were lying?” Hynek asked suddenly, glancing around in a paranoid haze. Quinn sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “And Evelyn. She described the same creature at the same time near the same location! I mean, one person reporting a monster, you can let that go, but two?”  
   
“Did you not hear what I just said?”  
   
“Yeah, _case is closed._ ”  
  
“Yeah. So why are you still—” He gestured vaguely, slamming his hand back on the table and pulling out a cigarette. “Let me ask you something— since we never covered this in our initial interview, because I guess I just _assumed._ You don't actually believe an inch of this could be for real, do you?”  
   
“You mean do I believe Sara and her children are telling the truth?”  
   
“No. Do you think it's possible extraterrestrial life exists?”  
   
Allen leaned over the tiny table, speaking all in one breath, like he'd rehearsed this.  
   
“Statistically, the probability of us being alone in our universe is zero.”  
   
“Ok, but scientifically speaking?”  
   
He stopped, thinking.  
   
“Well, given the finite speed of light, the vast distance between the stars, any visitation is… _improbable._ ” He muttered, seeming less sure than of his other statement, and staring back at the bar.  
   
“What do you keep looking at over there?”  
   
Allen stood, striding to the counter and grabbing the newspaper, bringing it back to their little booth. The captain took the paper, the child's drawing staring at him from the cover. He shook his head, dragging on his cigarette.  
   
“Sara talked to the press.”  
   
“It's one thing to hear a rumor, Captain. Another thing entirely to have an— an alien on your front page.”  
  
“Jesus. Now this whole town's gonna be in a panic.” He mumbled, watching a group of men walk out the door, muttering about Sara.  
   
“Hear that? Now they want answers from her. This makes them think Sara's the problem. It's a— It's a— It's a witch hunt.”  
   
“Fight or flight.”  
  
“We have to get back there right now.”  
  
They rushed back to the house, where a huge mob had formed. A bunch of drunk hillbillies with guns— never a good sign.  
   
“Hey! Step away from the house!” Michael shouted, holding a hand out to stop Hynek when a dozen guns were pointed at them. He prepared himself for a confrontation.  
  
“You're back.” One of them, the one from that morning, approached, brandishing his gun. “Still gonna tell us how to run our town?”  
   
“Easy there, clodhopper.” Quinn spat, standing protectively between the crowd and the doctor.  
  
“I told you boys this is a local issue. We don't need your kind here. Well, now you've found some real trouble!”  
   
The captain made a quick jab at the man, grabbing his gun, jamming it in his gut and turning it on him while he was stunned. He crumpled to the ground as Quinn addressed the crowd viciously.  
  
“New plan! From now on, I'm the man in charge. Any questions? Donnie?”  
   
“No. Do as he says…” The man groaned, getting up slowly.  
  
“Go check on the family.” He nodded to Hynek, keeping close behind him and the gun trained on the mob.  
   
Suddenly he was very glad they didn't leave that woman alone.  
   
👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽  
  
“You're failing me down there.” General Harding's cold voice cut through the phone line. Quinn watched the mob through the curtains, aware of the doctor's presence just behind him.  
  
“It's just a little hiccup right now. It's under control.”  
  
“The sheriff wants to call in the National Guard.  
Does that sound like it's _under control_ to you? This is the kind of _hiccup_ that makes national news! Do you understand that?” He shut his eyes, trying not to imagine the look on his superior's face right now, or what he would do to Hynek if he were there.  
   
“I'll talk to him, sir.”  
  
“Oh, you better do a hell of a lot more than that or you can kiss that post in D. C. goodbye!” The phone slammed the receiver on the other end, and Quinn let his arm fall limp. This was the exact opposite of ideal.  
  
“What'd Sara say?” He spun around, startling the man in the next room.  
   
“Well, she's not changing her story.”  
  
“Great. So we're both gonna be out of a job when we get home.”  
  
“We're leaving? This town will eat itself alive!”  
  
“Well, you want to go hunt down a non-existent alien in the woods? That's about the only way we can quiet things down.” He sighed, wracking his brain for a solution. “There's gotta be an explanation… I need to clear my head.”  
   
He stepped outside, leaving the doctor alone with his pictures and lighting a cigarette. Soon the other man came racing out, pulling one of the dead rabbits off of it's rope.  
  
“What are you doing?”  
   
“Do we have a flashlight?”  
   
“Now, what the hell do you need a flashlight for?” He asked, pulling one out of the car anyways, throwing his hands up when the professor ran off, calling over his shoulder.  
   
“Come on!”  
   
“Hey! What are you doing?”  
   
“An experiment.”  
   
He followed the doctor into the forest, aching for this damn case to _end_ _already._ He held the flashlight up while Hynek tied a dead animal to the top of a tree. Or something. Honestly he couldn't really tell what he was trying to do.  
  
“You gonna tell me what the hell we're doing out here already?” Michael watched the man climb down, ready to catch him should he fall again.  
   
“Testing a theory. Now hide.”  
  
The captain laughed, shaking his head.  
   
“This is crazy!”  
  
“No, please, hide! Behind me.” Hynek pushed him back, into the charred treeline, pulling the twine along with him and crouching. Quinn followed suit, shutting off the light for good measure.  
   
Allen made some _weird_ noises, shaking the rope so the bunny looked like it was moving. Quinn kinda just… stared. What the _fuck_ was he doing?  
   
Suddenly he heard something— a shriek from above, something swooping to the top of the tree. Hynek took his hand, pulling him up slowly and directing the flashlight to the bird, sitting on top of the burnt tree.  
  
“Take a good look, Captain. We have just found the Flatwoods Monster.”  
  
“Doc, you're a goddamn genius!” Michael beamed, turning to look the other man in the eyes. They looked so... different, so ethereal in the moonlight. For a second he swore it didn't even look like the same person.  
   
👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽  
   
“You've all heard the story about what happened in the woods that night. About what Sara and her children saw. A spaceship crashing, creature inside it— aliens taking over the world!” Quinn paced the small stage, putting on a show for the reporters and locals as Allen handed out pictures of the alien.  
   
“And most of you thought she was crazy! But everything she said was true. That spaceship was a meteor. Even the Air Force scientists that examined it said they've never seen such a fine specimen. And the creature—” He paused, lifting the cover off of the large cage to reveal the bird inside. “Nothing more than a great horned owl.”  
   
The crowd spoke amongst themselves, cameras flashing and reporters taking down notes. Michael turned to his partner, gesturing for him to take the stage.  
   
“Professor, would you like to take it from here?”  
   
“When hot air, such as the air heated by a fire, mixes with the colder air above it, the light refracts in different directions. That's why stars twinkle. How mirages are formed in the desert. And also how any of us here could see an owl in the middle of a burning forest and claim it was a monster. Instead take a good look. The resemblance is unmistakable— and the only logical, _scientific_ explanation.”  
  
Amidst the photos, and the questions, and the commotion, Quinn hadn't even realized that the professor had wandered away. That is, until he heard him shout, and looked up to see him running into the middle of the street.  
   
“Hey! Doc!” He ran over, pulling him aside just after a car had almost hit him. For a second, as he was running, he thought that Hynek had… glowed.  
   
Like the night of the plane crash, the doctor seemed to be enveloped in a strange green light for a split second, the car screeching to a halt. He shook his head. Maybe it was just paranoia, or all that talk about mirages. It certainly seemed like a mirage...  
   
“Come on. It's time we get you home.” He breathed, pulling him out of the street.  
  
“No. We need to make one more stop first.”  
  
He rolled his eyes, but he figured that maybe the doctor just wanted to tell the old lady what really happened. So, he obliged, driving to the mental hospital and making a quick phone call as they talked. It shouldn't take long...  
  
“So, the case is officially closed. Hynek really came through in the end.”  
  
“Happy to hear that. You must be as well.” Quinn smiled, shrugging at the words.  
  
“He's a little stiff, but the professor knows what he's doing.”  
  
“Why don't you stop by the offices on the way home so we can meet him?”  
   
“D.C.? I'd love to.”  
  
“I bet you would.” The general sneered, hanging up on him again.  
  
He sighed, rubbing his temples. He needed a drink. A good, stiff drink. Since it was still early, he would have to have a smoke instead.  
   
Strangely, his lighter didn't seem to want to work until Hynek walked through the doors. Fortunately, that gave them some time to talk.  
  
“Find what you were looking for in there? Look, professor, you're still new to this, so let me give you the answers to the exam, okay? Spaceships, aliens, all this stuff we're asked to investigate? The Air Force knows they don't exist. So our job is to provide a rational explanation for what the public sees and move on.”  
  
“Well, there are still things about this case that I just can't account for.” Allen walked to his side, standing at just the bottom of the stairs. He looked unnerved. He briefly wondered if anything had happened.  
  
“What? Like crazy lady in there? Look, you're the astrophysicist. Stick to the science. I'll stick to the psychology. That way, there is nothing that could come out of that sky that you or I can't explain.”  
   
As if on cue, the woman's body fell from the window, head colliding with the steps just as Hynek turned around. Quinn reached out, pulling him away from the mess. The green light appeared again, just as Hynek shouted in horror. There had to be a reasonable explanation for that too, right?  
   
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“Professor. Professor?”  
   
Quinn sat aside nervously as the general spoke, Hynek seemingly still shaken by the incident. He was staring at the ceiling, his eyes glassy and hands shaking. Funny, he didn't seem too bothered by it on the way there…  
   
He snapped back to attention, turning to General Harding nervously.  
   
“I'm sorry. What were— What were you saying?”  
   
“That General Valentine and I will be working together on _Project Blue Book._ So you'll be hearing from the both of us a lot more.”  
  
“Oh, yes, of course.”  His voice was wavering, and Quinn reached out to hold his hand beneath the table. The professor visibly relaxed at the touch.  
  
“You're doing your country a huge service. You know that, don't you? I trust Captain Quinn has explained that to you?” Valentine cut in, speaking slowly, as if he were stupid.  
   
Quinn couldn't help but stiffen his stance a little, defensive at the man's tone.  
   
“Yes, thoroughly.” The doctor remarked, briefly squeezing his hand in return.  
  
“Good.”  
  
“I'm sorry, but— is a meteor all that we found? At the site. It seemed to me there may have been something else removed. Something larger?”  
   
Quinn stiffened, staring at his partner wide-eyed. No. Nononononono bad plan! Abort!  
   
“Is he not up to speed on our protocol and discretion?”  
   
“He is. Most definitely.” He replied automatically and quickly, trying to somehow convey his thoughts through his hand.  
  
“It's just, did I miss something? There wasn't a larger sample? You know, if I— if I could just take a look for my research…”  
   
Hynek squeezed his hand again, and Quinn froze. He could've sworn he heard music somewhere...  
  
“In case the captain didn't dot all the I's and cross all the T's, your research is now our research while you work for _Blue Book._ So I want to say… _thank you for your help._ ” Harding hissed through gritted teeth, pretending to be a smile. To the untrained eye he may seem sincere, but Quinn knew him well.  
   
Apparently, so did Hynek, as he swallowed thickly, his hand twitching.  
   
“Oh, and regarding your compensation. If you sign that, we can get you paid. You can drop it off on your way out.” Valentine drawled, sliding a folder over to the professor.  
  
“Gentlemen.”  
   
Quinn hastily unlaced their hands as the general stood, standing and giving him a stiff salute.  
   
“Sir.”  
  
“I look forward to working with you.”  
  
“Oh, uh thank you.” Hynek stood too, grabbing his things and shaking Valentine's hand. He made no move to speak to Harding, however, instead turning and rushing for the exit.  
   
It was only once he got into the car that the song that he'd had stuck in his head— the one he'd heard in the meeting, and in the airplane— was _Fly Me to the Moon._  
   
He shook his head, trying to clear his mind as he turned the key and put the car into reverse. It was probably nothing, right?  
   
👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽  
   
The last thing he expected as he tucked the newest case file away in his office was a knock at the door.  
   
Even less expected was that, when he opened that door, he found Allen Hynek, smiling and holding a long red box.  
   
“Hey! I had a feeling I'd find you here.”  
   
“What— it's almost one in the morning, what are you doing here?”  
  
“Well, it occurred to me on my drive home that, uh, tonight was the opposition of Mars. That is the uh… the point in Mars' orbit when it passes closest to Earth. And, when I was younger, it was Mars that first got me interested in astronomy.”  
   
“So…?”  
   
“ _So,_ I didn't want to spend it alone.” He stepped into the office, setting the box down on the desk. A telescope. “And I was thinking maybe you'd like to view it with me? Y'know, if we're gonna be tracking down aliens, we might as well learn a bit about where they're from, right?”  
   
Allen leaned on the desk, a playful smile on his face. Quinn's own face cracked into a grin, and he laughed, shaking his head.  
   
“God, you're such a dork…”  
  
He pulled some glasses and booze out of his desk, helping the doctor set the telescope up on the lawn just outside his office.  
   
Hynek was smiling from ear to ear, explaining how the telescope works, and how Mars was discovered, and every other little thing he could think of. And all Michael could do was just stare, completely in awe at how so much information could fit into that pretty little head of his, and how the dim light of the moon caught in his eyes and reflected off of his glasses. How it danced in his hair in silver strings and reflected off of his soft, pale skin.  
   
But seeing him like this just tightened that knot in his throat, and spurred him to ask a serious question as they packed the telescope back up.  
  
“Hey, Doc? Listen, um what happened with Evelyn— that's gotta be making you second guess this whole _Blue Book_ thing.” Allen stared at him, mouth slightly agape and brows furrowed as he processed the information. “I just… I don't want you to give up. You're good at what you do and I'd hate if something like this made you change your mind about the job.”  
  
“Oh, no, I'm ok, it's just… I just think the authorities need to be investigating her death.” He looked away, getting that far off look on his face again.  
  
“I already checked in. Orderly there told the sheriff that she jumped out an open window. Had a history of hallucinating, too. Probably explains the other business with the alien.”  
  
“Hallucinating?”  
   
“Yeah. Could have went off her medication that day as well.”  
   
Hynek nodded, eyes drifting to the side in thought.  
  
“And, just one other thing… the next time you have a question for the generals, ask me first, okay? It'll make both our lives a whole lot easier. You know, when you work with them for as long as me—”  
  
“Okay, Captain. I get it.” Allen smiled at him, though it didn't quite reach his eyes, as he put the telescope in the trunk of his car, closing it gently.  
  
“Good. So tomorrow, I'll be seeing you bright and early?”  
   
“Of course.” Hynek reached towards him, interlacing their hands one more time. He looked at the ground thoughtfully, looking like he wanted to say something else.  
   
“Doc?”  
   
“Sorry, it's just… do you… _trust_ them? The Generals?”  
   
He shrugged, retracting his hand in the process.  
   
“It doesn't matter if I trust them, I just need to follow orders.”  
   
“Ok, but just between us. Do you trust them?”  
   
Michael hesitated, unsure what to say.  
   
“I don't… I don't think they would lie to us if it wasn't for good reason.”  
   
“And what if they did something… _bad?_ Something immoral.” Hynek's voice was trembling just as much as he was. Quinn reached out to gently grab his shoulder, concerned. Had something happened between them?  
   
“Then I just have to trust they did it for the greater good.”  
   
Allen nodded with a smile, the two sharing a few final words before parting ways. When Quinn went to sleep that night, a familiar song danced in his head, interlaced with dreams of an eccentric professor.


	3. Revelation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A secret is finally revealed after a strange occurrence beneath the stars.

The boys walked through the narrow hallways, everyone reeling over the news. Nuclear war seemed imminent.  
   
“They call the bomb Joe-3.”  
  
"Why?”  
   
“Well, Russians air-drop their first atom bomb test, somebody somewhere's gonna give it a name. I'm guessing there was a number one and a number two before that.”  
  
“Just the idea of nuclear war…” The doctor paused, shaking his head sadly. “Pure insanity.”  
  
“You ask Harding, it's only a matter of time before we find out whose nukes are bigger.”  
   
Hynek stiffened at the name, stopping in the middle of the hallway. Quinn stopped too, turning to face him.  
   
“What's your deal with him, anyways? Why are you always so squirrely over him? Is there something between you two I don't know about?” Michael interrogated him, frustration and a hint of jealousy mixing into anger.  
   
“What? No! It's just… I don't know, something just doesn't feel… right, about him.” Allen's eyes floated to the side, his hands fidgeting in a telltale sign that he was lying.  
   
“You know I don't believe any of that bullshit, right? I told you, I don't want any more lies between us, remember?” His anger faded into softness, a hand reaching out to comfort his distressed partner. He flinched away instead.  
   
“Well I— I can't help it. Lying is just… part of the job.” He mumbled, glancing up at Michael and quickly turning to enter the witnesses room. Quinn stood, confused and stunned. What the hell did that mean?  
   
He followed Hynek into the dark room, illuminated only by the dim yellow lamp, overhead lights, and the green-tinted windows. A woman sat by the only occupied bed, turning to them expectantly.  
   
“Are you doctors?”  
   
“No, we're here about the sighting. We're from Blue Book.” Hynek answered kindly, smiling sadly at the young woman.  
  
“I'm Gina. I'm Tom's fiancé.”  
  
“Gina, you're the one who called.” Michael echoed, mirroring Allen's soft tone. “How's he doing?”  
   
“They say he crashed his truck, but there's not a mark on him, and he just won't wake up. The thing is, if you saw his truck, it just don't make no sense.” She choked out, shaken.  
  
“Listen, if— if now is a bad time, we can come back—”  
  
“You know the power went out right when it happened? All over town. Like this… _craft_ or whatever it was sucked it right out of the sky.”  
  
“Craft? Did you see something, too?” The captain asked, shifting his weight expectantly. Allen was unusually quiet.  
   
“A lot of folks did, ask around. V-shaped lights flying faster than a meteor… I'm sure they keep radar logs at the tower.”  
   
The doctor turned towards him suddenly, mumbling awkwardly.  
  
“You know, I'd like to get a look at his truck—” He stopped as the comatose man suddenly sprung to life, grabbing him by the hand.  
   
Michael jumped into defense mode, calling for a doctor as Hynek grappled with the patient. Gina kept babbling on as he looked away for a split second, trying to find help.  
  
The air had that same staticy feel as the cockpit, Michael sucking in a sharp breath as he saw sparks fly from the victim's arm to Gina's hand. He could only imagine what Hynek felt. Suddenly, everything went quiet. Tom let go, Allen quickly backing away, almost right up to Quinn's chest. He looked back at him, frightened.  
   
“What the hell just happened?”  
   
👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽  
  
“He still had his hands on the wheel when we got to him. Had to pry 'em off. Eyes wide open. Couldn't say a word. Just the craziest thing I ever saw.” The sheriff muttered, leading the partners to the warped vehicle. It looked like it had been melted.  
  
“Jesus. You pulled him out of this thing?” Michael questioned, cringing. That had to be one bad wreck.  
   
Hynek walked around the truck, taking pictures and running his hand along the hood.  
   
“You'd think maybe another vehicle was involved, but there's no skid marks, no sign of a collision. It's just the strangest thing I ever saw. Can't explain it at all.”  
   
Allen thought for a while, a far-off look on his face as his hand rested on the vehicle. After a moment he stepped back, looking dazed.  
  
“What are you thinking?”  
   
“Thermal strain can cause tensile stress in some metals like this, but, uh, if that was electrical, it would have to be tuned to the right frequency.”  
  
“This blackout people been reporting, what do we know about that?”  
   
“Well, power grid out here isn't the best. It could've just been the old lights, but, uh, blackouts don't usually send folks into a blind panic. Tied up our phone lines pretty good last night.”  
  
“Last night?” The professor asked, head tilted slightly. Wasn't this supposed to be a few days ago?  
   
“Yeah, we've been traveling. We don't know anything about this.”  
  
“Mostly near the University. A regular riot on campus.”  
   
The boys shared a look, making their way to the local college as fast as possible to question their witnesses. Allen was quick to speak with the administration, getting a map from the Dean. Quinn stood in the courtyard, taking in all of the things he'd missed while he was overseas.  
   
“Well, the Dean was, uh, kind enough to give us a room to interview the witnesses, and according to this, it should be just over…” Hynek paused, turning back to where the captain stood, transfixed. “This way. Come on, we're late.”  
   
“Er, right. Sorry.” Michael shook the melancholy thoughts from his head, following the doctor to the Science Administration building. The room was packed with people, mostly students.  
  
“These are all witnesses?” Quinn asked himself. Hynek stood behind him, clearly intimidated by the large crowd. “No, that's a negative. Some of these are just kids trying to get out of class.”  
   
Michael nudged his partner, the other visibly relaxing at the contact. He whistled loudly to get their attention before stepping forward to address the room.  
   
“Hello. I'm Captain Quinn. This is Dr. Hynek, from the United States Air Force. Now listen, we don't have a lot of time today, so if you don't need to be here, beat it… Come on. Let's go.”  
   
He was stunned when no one made to leave, many of the students instead making their way to the few empty seats. Allen stepped up to take the stage in his silence.  
  
“Hello, everyone. Thank you for coming. Uh, we do understand it can be hard to come forward as a witness, so, uh, we do appreciate you being here. Now, um, if you believe that you have seen these strange lights in the sky, please raise your hands.”  
   
The whole room was suddenly filled with hands, the two staring at them in mild horror. Yeesh, this would take a while…  
  
“This many witnesses? That's a new one.”  
   
👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽  
   
The two men went around the room, taking all of the many statements as fast as they could. They all sounded nearly identical. Grad students going about their day when they noticed something strange in the sky, wracked with anxiety.  
   
Once they had all of the witness statements, Allen turned his attention to the blackboard, taking almost an hour filling the canvas with color. Drawings, equations, and writing slowly began to fill the empty space, and Michael decided to take a seat and watch the professor work. He had no idea what he was making, but it was impressive nonetheless.  
   
When the doctor stopped drawing and took a step back, Quinn held up his hand jokingly.  
  
“Question, Professor. What exactly am I looking at here?”  
   
Allen turned, as if he had forgotten that the pilot was still there, Quickly going into detail on the confusing display.  
   
“Well, I've taken the accounts and created a grid of the night sky over the campus— timeframes, angles of sight, light interference. It is a composite sketch of the sighting.”  
“So what's it telling you?” Michael leaned slightly forward, taking a sip of his cola and listening intently to the doctor's hypothesis.  
   
“Shooting stars— not possible. Plane— well, there were no scheduled flights that evening. But the power outage: now, I'm starting to think—”  
   
The door suddenly clicked open, two heads snapping to attention.  
   
“Good, you're still here.” The stranger lazily drawled, referring to the captain. “And you must be Hynek.”  
  
“ _Dr._ Allen Hynek.” He corrected, a bit on edge.  
“Ah. I'm Professor Carlton Fanshaw. This is my classroom. I, uh, need it for the next period.”  
  
“Of course, but the Dean assured us that we had use of the—”  
   
“This classroom is not the domain of the Dean's, it's mine.”  
   
Michael stood, moving to stand in the middle of the uprising tension.  
  
“You must be misinformed. We're here on official government business.”  
  
“No, no, no, no, I'm well informed. I know exactly who you are. I know exactly why you're here. And trust me when I say you won't be needing my chalkboard because I have this.” The man contested hastily, pulling a photograph from his bag. The captain stepped forward, taking the photo dazedly.  
  
“Hold on… Is that—” The professor cut him off as Allen took the picture from his hands, his head tilted as he examined it.  
   
“What you've been looking for. Yes, it is. And, uh, not only did I take that photograph last night, but I've done your job for you. Gentlemen, I've solved the mystery of the Lubbock lights. Your work here is done.” Quinn's chest tightened as he watched the professor begin to erase all of Hynek's hard work, stealing a worried glance at the doctor. He looked sad. “Having seen the photograph, the answer is quite obvious to anyone familiar with the local avian fauna.”  
He cleared an entire sixth of the board to write down one word.  
   
“Plovers?”  
   
“Your basic plover is a, uh, it's a water bird. It's about the size of a quail—” The professor lectured them as he drew a few squiggly lines to represent birds. Far less impressive than Allen's drawing.  
  
“I know what a plover is.” Hynek spat. Uh oh.  
  
“Please go on, Professor.” Quinn interjected, hoping to keep the two men from throwing any punches; though, he had to admit, neither seemed like quite the punching type.  
  
“Well, you see, the oily white breast of the plover serves as a, uh a highly efficient reflective surface. So when a light shines on it from below, from the recently installed mercury-vapor street lamps along Hollister Avenue, hitting a flock in flight, you get, voilá, a V-shaped alien armada.”  
   
Quinn nodded, turning to his partner— who seemed more than a little pissed— and pushing him towards the door. Once the two were far enough away, he turned, grabbing Hynek's things and thanking the professor.  
“What the hell, Doc? You tryin’ to start a fight?!”  
   
“Well I'm sorry, I just wanted a little _respect_ from my peers.”  
   
“I respect you!”  
   
“Yeah, but you aren't— you're… you're different, ok?”  
   
“What, because I'm not some— some fancy _college_ guy, with a stupid degree and— and a fancy letter that says I'm better than everyone else?”  
   
“What? No, I didn't—” He ran a hand through his hair with a distressed sigh, stopping in the middle of the courtyard. “Do you really think I'd think that?”  
   
“I don't know! I've only known you for like, a month, and every day you just confuse me even more! It's like— the second I think I _finally_ have you figured out, you turn around and say or do something that I don't understand and it's so… frustrating.” He huffed, turning and glaring at the doctor: but it didn't hold for long. His shoulders went slack and he buried his face in his hands, emotions catching up with him. He felt so tired.  
   
“This isn't about me, is it?” Hynek approached softly, carefully prying his hands from his face. Quinn looked down at him with hollow eyes.  
   
“You're not here to be my therapist, ok? Let's just close the case.”  
   
He pushed Hynek away, shuffling to the side and taking a long drag from his cigarette as the doctor started the car.  
   
👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽  
  
“Snow in Texas. What do you know?” He mumbled, letting the cold droplets land on his face. “What are we doing here?”  
   
“This is where Fanshaw, allegedly, took his photograph. Gina says the, uh, lights were moving faster than a meteor. Does the good professor honestly expect us to believe that your basic plover could fly that fast?”  
   
“You know, it doesn't bother me if someone else gets credit. Our job is to close the case. That's all.”  
  
“Our job is to find the truth.”  
  
“Sometimes I think you're trying to convince yourself more than anybody else. Like you know something I don't.”  
   
Quinn stared at his partner for a long moment, thinking back to their argument that evening. He really _did_ seem to be hiding something, changing the topic of the conversation rather than making a comment on the matter. This was apparently no different, the doctor turning away and pulling his camera out as the street lamps turned on.  
  
“Are plovers even nocturnal? Wouldn't they be sleeping right now?” He wondered aloud, starting to think the doctor may be right.  
   
“Hey. What the hell you doing out here?” The captain whipped around, eyeing the suspicious men approaching them as he made his way to his partner  
   
“Good evening.” Hynek greeted warmly, clearly trying to de-escalate the situation.  
  
“I said, what are you doing?”  
   
“Just taking pictures, Mister. Nothing to worry about.” Quinn smiled thinly at the man, before quickly turning his attention to the stranger's approaching friend. “Hey, I were you, I'd put that bat back where it belongs.”  
  
“Who are you?”  
   
“Uh, Dr. Allen Hynek. This is Captain Quinn. We work for the United States Air Force.”  
  
“You got any I.D.?”  
   
“I don't carry identification.” Quinn cringed at the words. Why did Allen never let _him_ answer these questions?  
  
“Big surprise.”  
  
“He's another one, I bet.”  
  
“Another one? What do you mean?”  
   
“We had other men out here just last week doing like you are. Right before the spaceships came.”  
  
“Other men? Who were they?”  
   
“They scrammed before we could ask. Commies probably.”  
  
“Oh, here we go.” Quinn muttered, throwing his hands up.  
  
“You look like a Commie to me.” The man shoved his bat in Hynek's face, threatening him. The doctor only met him with an unimpressed glare.  
   
Michael reached forward, snatching the bat from his hand and snapping it over his knee. He tossed the broken mess aside, stepping up to the stranger.  
  
“I warned you about the bat.”  
  
“Mary, call the police!” The bat-swinger called, backing away timidly.  
  
“Yeah, I'm gonna need your camera.” The first man stepped up, reaching for the doctor. Michael held a hand out to stop him, keeping his attention on the second man.  
  
“We are duly enfranchised representatives of the United States government!”  
  
“Everyone, go back to your homes. There's nothing to see here.”  
   
All of a sudden, the lights started to blow out, one by one. The strangers’ heads turned to the sky, some shouting about the flying saucers returning. The strangers ducked and ran for cover as Hynek grabbed his arm, pulling him back to the car.  
   
Allen drove out into the middle of nowhere, near the spot where Tom's car was found, and parked in the grass. Quinn lit a cigarette, staring out at the fading light.  
   
“So now what? Wait for flying saucers to show up?”  
   
“Based on our witness reports, this is the place.”  
   
👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽  
  
“Wow. Don't see stars like that in the city.” Michael commented nonchalantly, staring up into space from where they stood.  
  
“How many would you guess that there are? Just in the Milky Way?”  
   
“I don't know. A million, two?”  
   
“100 billion. And every one of them has a story to tell us.” Allen smiled dazedly, seemingly entranced by the stars.  
  
“You like stories.” Quinn noted, fondly remembering the dramatic flair he'd added as he explained the meteor to their previous witnesses.  
  
“I've dedicated my life to them.”  
  
“Well, how's this one? Professor dipstick tells us it's birds and you think that's crap, so we drive out to Hollister Street where the neighbors greet us with pitchforks and torches, till someone shouts _spaceship,_ then we drive out to the middle of nowhere, we look up at the stars— 100 billion of them, it turns out— until we realize spaceships never showed up. The end.”  
  
“That's not a story. That's a— a wild goose chase.” Hynek laughed lightly, smiling at Michael over the rim of his glasses.  
  
“Yes, it is… So, are we done here?”  
  
“Just, uh, give me a minute.” The doctor muttered, looking back up at the sky.  
  
“All right.” Quinn walked lazily back to the car, shaking his head slightly. Geez, that guy really was obsessed with that stuff, huh?  
   
He leaned on the steering wheel, smiling as he watched the man ahead of him. He was so odd, yet so… charming.  
   
Out of nowhere, the car started, startling him into an upright position. The stick was moving on it's own, dials going haywire and wipers springing to life. His foot wasn't even _near_ the pedals, yet the engine started revving.  
   
He felt a surge of electricity course through his body, hands flying to the wheel as the car started shaking violently. His eyes went wide and Allen ran to his side when he noticed the flickering headlights. He wanted to scream, but he could only choke out a few words.  
  
“Get away from the car!”  
   
“What's wrong?!” Allen screamed, jumping back when the handle electrocuted him— but he didn't give up. He grabbed the handle with both hands, car glowing with that same light green as before. Hynek screamed, in pain and exertion. After a split second, the pain suddenly dulled and the door seemingly unlocked itself, Hynek rushing to pull him out of the vehicle. They both fell onto the grass, Michael still shaking from the electric shock, but Allen's hands soothed the pain wherever they touched.  
   
They both looked up as lights passed overhead, but Quinn quickly turned his attention back to the doctor. He had… _things,_ coming off of his head, a dim blue light emanating from the ends of them, where they drooped over his face. His face… was also glowing, in his eyes and in little spots— freckles. Like stars.  
   
“What the hell just— What the hell are you?!”  
   
“M— Michael, I…” The doctor started weakly, but his eyes rolled back and he fell into Quinn's arms before he could continue.  
   
The captain looked around, suddenly worried someone might be watching them, before settling his eyes on the unconscious man in front of him. He picked up his fallen hat, dusting it off and gently setting it over the protrusions— antennae— and heaving him off of the ground.  
   
He set the doctor in the passenger seat, taking a second to make sure the car wasn't dangerous anymore. Looking back at his face, Allen's freckles had dimmed considerably: Michael prayed it wasn't a bad sign. They would need to talk in the morning.  
   
👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽  
   
The pilot found it hard to sleep that night. His mind kept wandering to Allen. He kept thinking he needed to get the man to a doctor, or a hospital: but where could he go? Who could possibly treat a… _whatever he was?_  
   
So instead he sat in the armchair in the corner of his room— he'd given his bed to his partner, rather than trying to find the hotel key in his mess of a bag— and watched the other man sleep. He managed to doze off a bit once he realized Hynek seemed healthy. Steady breathing, strong pulse, seemingly normal REM cycle. He should be fine.  
   
When he wasn't resting, he was watching Allen. By the time the morning came he was familiar with the strange sight. Dark purple antennae that ended in dimly lit bulbs, which had changed from a dark blue to a light green through the night, laying limp over the pillow. Pointy, elf-like ears, dotted with glowing freckles and tinged with purple, much like his cheeks and nose.  
   
So, when the lights on his face and head began to brighten, he snapped awake. The professor twitched, slowly but surely waking himself from his deep slumber.  
   
“Allen?” Michael choked, mouth dry from sleep.  
   
Hynek's eyes were suddenly open and panicked, and he made to get out of bed before the captain stopped him.  
   
“Michael! I can explain!”  
   
“Whoa, whoa, hey! Take it easy, alright?” Quinn assured the frightened doctor, pushing him back into a sitting position as his eyes briefly went out of focus. “It's alright, you're alright.”  
   
“You're not… upset? Or— or scared?”  
   
“I had all night to think on it and calm down. And hey; how could I ever be afraid of _Allen Hynek?_ ” He smirked, watching the professor's stance slowly relax and slump, clearly still tired.  
   
“Well, when people don't understand things they usually resort to fear, like you said. _Fight or flight._ ”  
   
“Well, yeah, I was kinda freaked out at first, I mean, my partner suddenly grew _antennae,_ for Christ's sake. But last night I gave it some thought. Antennae, glowy freckles, whatever— you're still you, right?”  
   
“And… you aren't mad?”  
   
“Why would I be mad?”  
   
“I lied. I should have told you sooner, but I was afraid…” Hynek trailed off, not meeting Michael's eyes. “I was afraid you'd tell Harding…”  
  
“Wait… is this why you get so weird about him?” He leaned forward, pulling Allen's gaze to him as he nodded solemnly in response. Suddenly a lot of weird shit started to make sense.  
  
“ _The Chimera Project._ Experiments in human genetics and resistance to space travel. From what I've been able to gather, they found a way to cross-breed humans with… _something else_ , by injecting human embryos with the other creature's DNA, and manually altering their genetic sequences. Somehow they managed to make… _me._ ”  
   
“And Harding. He ran this operation?”  
   
“No, but he was second in command. He was mostly my caretaker; and not a very good one, at that.” He chuckled lamely, staring at his hands as they fiddled with the sheets.  
   
“So you're… what? An alien?”  
  
“No! I mean… I— I don't know what I am. I might be?” Allen sighed, hiding his face in his hands, his antennae falling flat against his head, almost blending in with his hair. “I'm just… weird.”  
   
The captain cleared his throat awkwardly, reaching forward to pull his hands away from his face. Looking closely, his irises seemed larger, and far more of a bright teal than his usual deep blue. His freckles, and the tips of his antennae, had turned a bright pink.  
   
“How did you hide all this?”  
   
“Telepathy. If I use a small amount of my energy I can influence how I'm perceived. I was too tired after pulling you from the car last night.” He smiled weakly, eyes sad.  
   
“And Harding doesn't know it's you, right?”  
   
“God, I hope not. If he found me, I…” he shuddered, colors changing to a dim purple. “I'd just go back to being his lab rat.”  
   
Michael's gaze hardened, jaw set. No way in Hell would that ever happen. Not while he was there.  
  
“Don't worry. I'd never let that happen to you, I promise. Now let's get you some breakfast, and we can work on tying up this case, ‘kay Doc?” Quinn smiled, running a thumb along his speckled cheek.  
   
👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽  
   
“So, how does that stuff work? If you don't mind me asking.” Quinn sat in the passenger seat, watching Hynek drive. He didn't really feel like driving after last night…  
   
“I'm not entirely sure on any of it, but just based on my abilities and reactions to external stimulus, I've been able to make some hypotheses about my biology.” Allen paused, turning to ensure Michael understood, who nodded for him to continue. “Well, since my… er, _antennae,_ light up and change color, corresponding to my emotions, I've decided they must be used for communication, much like a firefly.”  
   
“Makes sense.”  
   
“But they also glow much brighter whenever I use my telekinesis or telepathy, so I figure they must also serve as some sort of… well, antenna, for them. Amplifying and transferring that energy to whatever I focus it on.”  
   
“And the freckles?”  
   
“Probably used to attract mates, as well as communication. The more there are, the brighter they shine, the more mates they probably attract. The eyes and ears are probably evolutionary, to survive in a darker, more dangerous environment. Large, illuminated eyes to catch more light, and large mobile ears to hear potential threats.”  
   
“Huh. And when they're hidden, do they still work like that?”  
   
“Oh, _definitely._ That's what the glasses are for. They were made by the Air Force— they appear completely normal from the outside, but on the inside they're basically sunglasses. Of course, I tweaked the design once I left, to make them work better with outdoor light rather than the fluorescent lab lights. The ears are a bit trickier. My hearing is still pretty sensitive, but I can fold my ears over to muffle it, like a cat flattening them against its head.”  
   
Michael nodded as they pulled up to the radar tower, the doctor briefly slumping back with a sigh.  
   
“All of this… it's why I joined _Project Blue Book._ The whole _Chimera_ thing. I was hoping I could finally figure out what I was… or how I was made, and why.”  
   
Michael watched him thoughtfully, leaning over and rubbing soothing circles into his shoulder with a smile.  
   
“Hey, don't worry about it. We can figure this out.”  
   
Hynek smiled at him, eyes shining with something akin to hope, before he quickly turned away, getting out of the car before Quinn could say anything.  
   
“We should just focus on the case. We can worry about everything else later.”  
   
Michael laughed, shaking his head and following the doctor as he rushed into the building. At least now his oddities seemed to make sense.  
   
👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽  
   
“So the power did go out again?” Hynek asked the young man as they ascended the stairs, filing into the observation deck.  
   
“Five years working here, this never happened once. Now it's twice in one week.”  
  
“Anything on the screen?” Quinn stepped forward, brushing past Hynek in the small space.  
   
“Same thing as the whole town saw, V-shaped lights. I logged its path.” The boy grabbed a folder, showing them the logs.  
  
“Gas station, Baroody Farm, the Lumber Yard, and the airport.” Michael recalled the blackout reports, recounting them to Allen as he marked them on the map.  
  
“Okay, based on our records, blue lights were here here, and here.” The kid marked a path with a ruler, perfectly mirroring the marks made by the professor. The partners shared a look.  
  
“Give us a moment, will you?” Quinn tapped the kid's arm, startling him and causing him to rush out of the room. Both men watched him leave before turning back to their work. “Rolling blackout matches the flight path on the radar. What happened in the car last night? I don't even know where to start.”  
“The V-shaped formation of blue lights— I saw them with my own eyes. We both did.”  
  
“West Virginia, recon. Pilot in North Dakota, aerial engagement. Last night, ground assault. Maybe Joe-3 isn't the only thing the Russians are testing.” Quinn mumbled, still trying to rationalize the situation. Why was he still trying to rationalize things?  
  
“Or maybe it's not the Russians.”  
Quinn sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. After last night, he didn't know what to think. Maybe there was a reasonable explanation for _The Chimera Project_ too.  
   
“We're gonna have to call the Generals…”  
   
👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽  
  
“Gentlemen, what we're about to show you, you never saw. Do you understand?” Valentine drawled in that same slow, lazy tone he always spoke with. They were once again sat in the large office in D.C., Allen's hand firmly entwined with Michael's. And now he knew why, fixing the General with a sturdy glare as he spoke.  
   
“This is so far above your need-to-know, it might as well be on the moon.” Hynek flipped through the file Valentine slid to him, pulling his hand away to look through the pictures. “What you found in Texas— the lights, the radar reports— all of it was not an unidentified flying object. It was one of ours out of Randolph Air Force Base.”  
   
“It's a top-secret military craft, unofficially known as the V-Wing. It's experimental and highly classified. That's your UFO.” Hynek looked back at Quinn, disbelief written all over his features.  
   
“We need you to keep it out of the public eye. A cover story. Birds, for example, that's a plausible explanation.” The captain looked up at Valentine, uncertain. How could he know if he was telling the truth?  
  
“Now just wait one minute. Uh, what about the power outages? What kind of experimental craft could possibly cause that?” There was a moment of silence as the Generals looked away, Quinn's chest tightening in anxiety. “Captain, you want to tell them about what happened with the car?”  
   
The captain shook his head, wide-eyed. What the _hell_ was Hynek thinking?  
   
“Professor, did you just call me a liar?”  
   
“No, of course not—”  
  
“Boys, we're all on the same team here. And we all have the same job to do for America.”  
   
“Keep it out of the public eye. Roger that.”  
  
“Thank you, Captain.”  
  
“We'll send an escort to get you back.”  
   
Michael stood, saluting as the two men brushed past him, heaving a sigh of relief as the door clicked shut.  
  
“Top-secret military craft? _That_ is the cover story! You, of all people, should know that there is no way that that is a plausible explanation for what we witnessed!” Hynek rambled, anxious and on edge.  
  
“You know, you got to be the dumbest smart person I've ever met. What the hell were you thinking? If you keep questioning them you're gonna get yourself in trouble! _Or worse!_ Look, I—” he sighed, running a hand along his face and taking a deep breath before continuing in a whisper. “I know you wanna figure things out. What you are, why you were made— but getting in petty catfights with the Generals? That's only gonna throw you down the tubes, and I can't help you after that.”  
   
Hynek sighed, shaking his head absently.  
   
“I know. But I can't let this rest…”  
   
“Please, just let me handle this stuff from now on. Or at least run it by me before you run your mouth…”  
   
“You know I can't promise that. It's not who I am.”  
   
Quinn sighed, shaking his head with a light smile.  
  
“Yeah, I know… Just try, ok? _Sparkles?_ ” He patted the doctor on the shoulder and strutted out of the room, Hynek's laughter trailing behind him.


	4. Abnormality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something doesn't seem quite right with Michael, and that German scientist seems to know a bit too much...

When Michael went back to the office that night, things didn't feel quite right. He nursed his drink as the words from the radio echoed through the room, hands stiff and shaking. His mind kept wandering back to what happened in the car. What if Allen hadn't been there? If he hadn't been able to help?  
   
He rubbed at his temples, his radio fading in and out and desk lamp flickering as he got more and more stressed. As he reached to fix the lamp, the bulb blew out and the radio fell into silence. He let his hand fall limp on the table, staring at the lamp. His mind was screaming to dial the phone, but somehow he knew it wouldn’t work. There was no way he had caused that, right?  
   
He downed his drink and grabbed his coat, heading for the exit. If he couldn't call the doctor, he would just need to go see him instead.  
   
His vehicle flared to life before he even turned the key, much like the night before. He shook his head, urging himself to focus on the road, even as the radio seemed more static than song and got louder as his hands got closer. He tried to level his head as he approached the door, shocked when a spark flew from his hand as he reached for the handle.  
   
 _Thiscan'tbehappeningthiscan'tbehappeningthiscan'tbehappening…!_  
   
He knocked frantically, jumping back when the door was suddenly opened.  
   
“Michael? What—”  
   
“ _Allen!_ ” The word came out far more desperate than he'd intended, arms curling around himself despite their ache to reach for the professor. Allen's expression swiftly changed, from one of mild confusion to pure concern, stepping forward and extending his arms as Michael shrunk back.  
   
“I don't know what's happening, and I think I'm going crazy.”  
   
“What happened?” Hynek asked, stepping aside to let the captain in. He clearly didn't want to be touched.  
   
“I was just in the office, I was gonna call you— do you think you can turn the lights out, please?”  
   
Allen looked at him oddly for a second as he shut the door, reaching for the lightswitch. Nothing changed.  
   
“What…?” He fiddled with the switch, turning it off and on a few times before turning back to Michael, who was staring up at the light in horror.  
   
“I… I don't know what happened. I was just in the office, and suddenly the light started to flicker, and—” He flinched back when a hand grasped his shoulder, relaxing a little when he realized Allen wasn't getting hurt. The lights began to dim.  
   
“Calm down. You're going to be ok.” Hynek smiled, leading him to the dinner table and sitting him down. “Now, try explaining it slowly.”  
   
Quinn took a deep breath, swallowing thickly around the knot in his throat.  
   
“I was just in my office, having a drink and listening to the radio, thinking about the case. And, when I started thinking about the other night, in the car, I—”  
   
The lights started to brighten and flicker again, Allen reaching for his hand, reminding him to breathe.  
   
“The lamp started to flicker, and the radio went haywire. When I reached to turn 'em off they both blew out. I was gonna call you, but I figured the phone would just blow out too, and even if it worked it would probably be wired to the Generals or something, so I just… came here.”  
   
The doctor nodded solemnly, rubbing circles in the back of his hand with his thumb. Looking up, Quinn realized he had shed his human façade, looking at him with those big green eyes and purple freckles.  
   
“When I got in the car it started acting up, but it was different. It was just the electrical stuff freaking out this time, and there wasn't any weird shaking or flickering, it just… turned on. The radio was all messed up, but it was just static this time, not the changing channels.”  
   
“And you think it's related to the incident.”  
   
“I don't know, it's just… weird. I thought it could've just been a coincidence, but…” He trailed off, looking up at the light just above them.  
   
“Something happened outside, too. When I reached for the doorknob. It was like what happened with Tom and Susie, when she got shocked? But it was coming from me.” Michael explained, staring at his hands in confusion.  
   
“Well, if a strong enough current were to pass through your body, like it did, I'm sure there would be _some_ residual charge, but… not nearly to this extent…” Allen muttered thoughtfully, resting his chin on his free hand as his antennae fell into his face, shifting from a bright pinkish orange to a deep blue. “I'm not sure there's a reasonable scientific explanation for it— but there isn't one for me either, so, worst case scenario at this point seems to be that you're like me.”  
   
“Well, when you put it that way…” He looked up at the professor, lopsided grin on his lips. “Then this shit doesn't seem that bad.”  
   
And just like that, the only thing illuminating the dark room was the bright pink glow of Hynek's freckles and antennae. His face flushed a furious purple, and his bright green eyes slid nervously away from the captain's face as he put his free hand over his cheek.  
   
“Well… If— If you don't want to be alone tonight, and you wouldn't mind spending a bit more time with me… maybe you could stay the night? I have a spare bedroom.”  
   
“I don't wanna be a burden, Doc—”  
   
“You're never a burden, Michael. I'll be just down the hall if you need anything.” Allen smiled sweetly, standing up and leading the captain to his room as he spoke. Before he could enter his own room Michael held him in place, guiding the doctor's attention back to him.  
   
“Thank you. For everything.” He smiled meekly, ducking his head and shutting the door before Hynek could respond. His face, he was sure, was red; and he heaved a sigh as he made his way to the bed. He had forgotten to ask for pajamas, but he shrugged it off. He usually slept in his underwear anyways.  
   
He stripped into just his undershirt and boxers, carefully hanging his uniform in the closet and climbing into the unfamiliar bed. On any other occasion he would pass out easily: especially after a few rounds of whiskey, but tonight was… different.  
   
He rolled onto his back, rubbing the heels of his hands over his eyes with a disgruntled groan. When he dropped his hands and opened his eyes, he noticed the bedside lamp had turned on from his stress. Lovely. Another thing to keep him up that night. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to calm himself down. Deep breaths, Captain. Keep your head.  
   
When he opened his eyes again, the light was dim, but still on. Not good enough.  
   
He lifted a hand to his face, examining it. It looked normal, but if he concentrated enough he could see static jumping between his skin cells, like lightning in a cloud. It was a surreal experience, to say the least. Not only could he see the static, he could _feel_ it. If he focused he could feel the electricity running through his body; that weird pins-and-needles feeling, like his muscles had fallen asleep.  
   
It scared him, knowing he somehow had this… _thing_ inside of him that had caused their last victim to fall into a coma. He didn't want to end up like that. He couldn't stand the thought of being stuck in his own mind when there were people out there that needed him— when Allen needed him…  
   
He shut his eyes again, the light beside him getting brighter as he fought to control his breathing. Allen _needed_ him. He needed to keep the Generals away from their science project.  
   
He shot up out of his bed, anxiety gripping his chest as he threw himself across the hall, unnecessarily worried in his alcohol-induced haze. Of course, he only realized how absurd his worries were when he opened the door, Hynek squinting as the lights flared up.  
   
“Michael…?”  
   
“I—” He took a deep breath, letting the tension leave his shoulders, trying to speak around the hitch in his throat. “I'm sorry, I… I don't know what I was thinking.”  
   
The professor smiled at him sleepily, blinking in the dim lights and stifling a yawn.  
   
“It's ok. I don't mind: I'm sure you're still worked up about… well, everything.” He chuckled lightly, speaking up just as Quinn started to close the door. “Would you like to sleep with me? Just for tonight?”  
   
“Wh— Allen, I can't—”  
   
“Well I'd really prefer it over buying new light bulbs for the whole house…” Hynek sat up, slipping out from under the covers.  
   
“I…” Michael stammered, face practically radiating heat. Sharing a bed— with Allen? He wasn't sure he could do that, but he found himself nodding anyways, mouth dry as the doctor sleepily lead him forward.  
   
He let Allen push him into the mattress, lack of sleep and surplus of alcohol catching up to him all at once. His eyes slid closed of their own accord as the professor pulled the blankets over him and settled into the other side of the bed, the captain finally drifting into a dreamless slumber…  
   
👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽  
  
Sirens.  
   
The first thing he heard when he woke up were _sirens_ , and Quinn immediately made to get up, confused when he was restrained by heavy limbs wrapped around his middle. His head whipped around, mind hazily piecing together where he was and how he got there. His attention snapped to his side as the body beside him shifted, ocean blue eyes squinting in the light.  
   
“Michael…? What's…” Allen paused, noticing the distant sound. “Oh. The sirens. It's just a drill, don't worry. They've been talking about it all week.”  
   
“Oh…” Michael stared at the doctor, dumbfounded. Last night had felt like a dream, but it had to be real if he were in _Allen's bed_ on a Saturday morning. “Wait, what time is it then?”  
   
He turned away from the professor's messy curls and sleepy smile, trying to ignore the way his eyes seemed to sparkle in the light filtering through the blinds as he rubbed his temples. His freckles and antennae were shining a dim pinkish purple as he fumbled for his alarm clock, holding it close and putting on his glasses to read it.  
   
“Uhh… almost 11. We both slept in quite a bit…”  
   
Michael groaned, falling back onto the bed and covering his head with his pillow.  
   
“We should get up… I've probably got a dozen messages from the generals asking where I've been.”  
   
“Can't you stay just a _little_ longer?” Allen whined, curling back up against the captain with a pleading expression, antennae lying flat against his head and glowing a dark purple-ish blue. Quinn laughed lightly, running a hand through the alien's curly hair, hand lingering on the strange appendages. It almost didn't feel real…  
   
“As much as I'd love to stick around, we need to get up. It's late, and I need to go to work.” Michael made to get up, but the doctor's arms locked around his chest, keeping him in place.  
   
“Wait. Michael, I… I had a dream. But I don't think it was just a dream.”  
   
“What do you mean?”  
   
“Well… you know how sometimes, when we're on a case, I'll just… zone out, while I'm examining something?”  
   
“Uh, yeah. What about it?”  
   
“I think I can… I don't know how to describe it— connect, with the victims. Usually I need to be where it happened, or touching something related to the incident, like the plane or the car, but…” he cuddled closer into the pilot, seemingly frightened. “I think something very bad happened last night…”  
  
“Well… how about we get up and get some coffee and you can tell me all about it?”  
   
Allen made a noncommittal noise, slowly rolling out of bed and onto the floor as Michael laughed. It didn't take long for the captain to get dressed, but Allen was still fumbling with his buttons by the time he checked on him. He shook his head, smiling fondly as he helped the doctor fasten his tie and slip into his jacket.  
   
They ended up going out to a nearby diner, the doctor scribbling hastily in his notebook as Michael sipped on his coffee, watching him carefully. He looked absolutely frantic, sliding the notes to him with a hand in his hair.  
   
“In my dream, I— I was on a plane. I was taking notes on a case; the… _Chiles Whitted Incident_ ? And I suddenly get the urge to look up, to look at the people around me, and I don't recognize anyone. We suddenly hit a bunch of turbulence: the lights are flickering, the luggage is falling, everyone's panicking… then the lights go out, and there's this weird, bright green light outside the window. This _thing_ is flying right past us.” He points at the drawing at the top of the page, tapping it a few times frantically. “I made my way to the cockpit and the co-pilot says… _‘It's matched our speed, but doesn't make any sound. I swear it's been stalking us...’_ ”  
   
Michael sighed, raking a hand through his hair and looking at the shape. It kind of looked like an elongated football in the doctor's hastily scribbled rendering.  
   
“Well, why don't we just finish our breakfast and I'll look into it once I get to the office, ok?”  
   
Allen nodded shakily, turning back to lazily poking at his eggs.  
   
“It just felt so real…”  
   
👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽  
   
To absolutely no one's surprise, Michael had a dozen missed calls when he got back, and the generals were _pissed_.  
   
“ _Where have you been?!_ ”  
   
“Sorry Sir, I was…” He hesitated, biting his lip as he tried to come up with a reasonable excuse. “I was going over the previous case with Doctor Hynek, and I suppose we lost track of time. Ended up staying the night.”  
   
He looked down at his hands, shaking as he remembered what had happened the night before. The lights, the electricity in his veins— the line became staticky as he thought, and he had to close his eyes and try to calm down.  
   
“Captain? You still there?”  
   
“Yeah. Just a bit of static. What were you saying?”  
   
“I said you've got a new case. Passengers on a plane saw a strange craft just above Gurley Alabama. Apparently—”  
   
“I'm sorry, I— did you say plane? What did this craft look like?”  
   
“Passengers described it as a 'cigar-shaped, wingless craft.’ Apparently it matched pace with the plane after following it for about 100 miles. The file should be on your desk.”  
   
“Right… I'll call Hynek right away.” He made to put the phone down, but the General stopped him.  
   
“Quinn, wait. What's got you so high strung?”  
   
“Nothing, Sir. Just… had a long night. I'll keep you posted.”  
   
He set the phone down slowly, leaning onto the table with a heavy sigh. His life just got weirder and weirder with each day…  
   
“Captain Quinn?” His head snapped up, meeting eyes with his receptionist. She seemed frightened— no, she was just confused, and a bit on edge. Clearly something had caught her off guard. He gave her an easy smile, holding up a placating hand.  
   
“What's the problem, Faye?”  
   
“Was there a power outage last night? The clocks are all off, but I don't remember any storms or anything that could have caused it…”  
   
He clenched his fists, trying to keep his anxiety under control. He pretended not to notice the flights starting to flicker.  
   
“Ah. Lamp burned out, took have the building with it. You know how finicky this stuff can be sometimes.”  
   
“Do you know what caused it?”  
   
“It was just getting old, and I guess I overworked it. I need to pick up a new one on the way back, but I've gotta go pick up Allen.” He made his way into the hallway past her, tossing the broken lamp in the trash and thanking all of the possible deities that she had no idea how electricity worked.  
   
“ _Allen_? You two are on a first name basis now?” The lady cocked an eyebrow, stopping the captain in his tracks. “After you spent the night in his house?”  
   
“After he saved my life.” Michael turned sharply, hard expression steadily melting into something… sweeter. “Multiple times now.”  
   
“And you're sure there's _nothing_ between you two? Not even a smidge?” She elbowed him playfully, making him roll his eyes.  
   
“Trust me, I don't like guys like that— and even if I _did_ , Allen is— he's… he's not my type.”  
   
“Alright, but if you ever change your mind on that you're gonna owe me 10 bucks!”  
   
Michael laughed, shoving a cigarette in his mouth and flipping open his lighter before giving her a quick salute as a goodbye, pushing through the front door with his back and ducking into his car to pick up the doctor.  
   
If someone were to point out he was blushing, he would vehemently deny it.  
   
👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽  
   
Michael pulled into the gravel driveway, going over the case files with Allen as they approached the ramshackle old barn, stopping just outside the entrance.  
  
“So according to the report, this guy described the same craft the witnesses on the plane saw. The same thing you described this morning.”  
   
Allen nodded slowly, watching the young man approach their car, seemingly not wanting to get out.  
   
“Does that stuff happen… often?” Michael asked uncertainly, waving at the witness to let him know they'd be out soon.  
   
“After the occurences, yes. I've never seen something while it was happening before, though…”  
   
“So, what, your powers are amplified or something?”  
   
“I don't know. It's so weird…”  
   
Michael turned to the professor, lips pulled into a thin line, and put a gentle hand on his shoulder, meeting him with a soft expression.  
   
“I promise, I'm gonna help you figure this out, but for right now we've got a case to solve.” He didn't exit the vehicle until Hynek gave him a nod, turning his attention to their witness. They all shook hands and introduced themselves before heading into the barn as the farmer explained the incident.  
  
“Spaceship killed all my hogs. I had 20 healthy hogs the day before. The morning after I see it, I came out to pour the feed, and—”  
   
“They all died the same night?”  
   
“Yes, sir. Thought I was gonna die just watching it hover up there.”  
  
“Uh, you're saying that it was hovering, now?” Allen cut in, taking over the conversation as Michael wandered away, thinking of possible explanations.  
   
“I remember this strange smell in the air, too…”  
  
“Witnesses on the plane described a cigar-shaped craft.”  
  
“Maybe… It was lit up. Hard to tell.”  
  
“The airport's not far from here.” The captain finally said, turning towards Davis as he approached.  
  
“I've lived here my entire life. Seen planes fly over all the time. This weren't no plane.”  
  
“It's more like a rocket, huh?” He asked, suddenly coming to a conclusion. The base for Operation Paperclip wasn't far…  
   
“Yeah, more like a rocket.”  
   
“Sir, thank you for your time.” Michael half-smiled, shaking the farmer's hand and heading straight back to the car, his gloves the only thing preventing the poor man from getting a nasty shock from the electricity burning at his fingertips. _Of course_ , with a bunch of Nazis running a top secret government project it was only a matter of time before something like this happened.  
   
The doctor trailed behind him, jogging to catch up and keeping pace just behind him.  
  
“He is our only witness on the ground. What makes you so sure we're done here?”  
   
“'Cause I know what he saw. I know where it came from.” He strode up to the driver's side, trying to suppress the shock crackling from his fingertips as he reached for the handle.  
  
“And would you care to enlighten me?” Hynek asked as Michael slid into the car, turning to address him once he did the same. Allen seemed to know something was wrong by the electrified atmosphere in the car, shooting his partner a concerned look.  
   
“You know about Operation Paperclip, right?”  
   
“Government recruitment of German scientists after the war into the United States—”  
   
“Huntsville, Alabama, to be exact. Turned the whole town into a Bavarian village from what I heard. It's not far from here.” He paused, turning to look at the doctor with thinly-veiled anger. “You know what they're working on?”  
  
“The space program.” Allen hesitated, confused.  
  
“That's the official story. Wernher von Braun built a V-2 rocket that took out half of London. He's the head of the whole thing. I'd like to ask him a few questions about our UFO.”  
  
“You think von Braun had something to do with this?”  
   
“Cigar-shaped craft that nearly takes out an airplane? Air base with former Nazis working on rockets? You're goddamn right I want to ask him a few questions.” He leaned forward, turning the key and ignoring the flickering lights on the dash or the static blaring from the radio as he made his way out of the driveway, taking a few deep breaths in an attempt to ebb his unease before they got to the base.  
   
He didn't seem to notice the strange men watching them from afar and following them along the otherwise empty backroad.  
   
👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽  
  
As expected, they were stopped at the gate by a young soldier, who stepped out of the little shack and stooped just beside the window.  
  
“Identification, please, sir.”  
   
Michael sighed, handing over his ID and giving the young man a lazy salute. He watched the boy scurry back to the small building to make a phone call, barely catching his name over the distance.  
  
“What's he doing over there?”  
  
“Well, it's not like they were expecting us.” Hynek smirked slightly, both of them watching the young man approach the vehicle again, handing back Michael's ID.  
  
“Sorry, gentlemen. You don't have clearance to enter the base.”  
  
“I'm a captain of the United States Air Force.” He stated bluntly, feeling the ever-present prickle of electricity once again growing in intensity.  
  
“I understand that, sir. However I—”  
   
“Are you saying the Germans can come in and out of here all day, and I can't?”  
   
“It seems wrong to me, too, but there's nothing I can do.” He cringed when the poor kid jumped back from an unintentional shock and scurried back a few feet, surprised. It was at that moment he made his decision, throwing the vehicle into reverse.  
  
“If you could just let Professor von Braun know that we're here from Project Blue Book, and we simply want to ask a few—” The professor paused as the car began to move, turning to Michael with a shocked and frightened expression. “What are you doing?”  
   
He threw the stick shift forward, flooring the pedals and bursting through the little wooden gate.  
   
“Captain, what are you doing?!” Allen was in a panic, turning to look at the approaching vehicles anxiously. In his panic he momentarily dropped his human façade, his freckles blaring red. “Oh, my God…!”  
   
Allen curled into himself slightly, pulling his hat over his face as the military vehicles surrounded them, focusing entirely on hiding his alien features as Michael cursed and hit the steering wheel. By the time they were yanked from their seats Allen had calmed down enough to look human, and Quinn was practically a walking generator, struggling to contain the energy practically bursting out of his skin.  
   
For the most part he managed to not electrocute anyone— aside from maybe one or two of the guards that were a bit _too_ handsy with them— but the lights were flickering violently by the time they were thrown in the dingy little cell. He'd managed to calm down after a while, and mostly no one questioned it, but he couldn't stop the surge of energy that came when he heard a thick German accent just outside the bars.  
  
He stopped his pacing to glare coldly at the “former” Nazi, who paused in the doorway to examine the lights, burning bright and flickering like crazy.  
  
“I… I just got off the phone with General Harding. Thankfully, he was able to shed some light on this whole unfortunate circumstance.” He held a hand out for the captain to shake, but he kept his arms firmly by his side— both to avoid having to show the man any form of respect, and to keep himself from electrocuting the living daylights out of the bastard.  “Captain Quinn, let me apologize for what happened at the gate. Those men were just following orders.”  
  
“Yeah, well, we both heard that before, haven't we?” He sneered, stepping past the German with thinly-veiled rage, listening warily to the interaction behind him.  
   
“And you must be Dr. Hynek. Multi-frequency study of relativistic jets in active galactic nuclei.”  
  
“You're familiar with my work.” He cringed at Hynek's impressed tone, and the German's _hand_ , which had been lingering on his back.  
  
“I came across your article some years back during my research. I found it revolutionary.”  
  
“That's, uh… not a lot of people read that article.”  
  
“Surprising to me. But then again, most men ahead of their time tend to be overlooked in the present.” Von Braun smiled, seemingly _flirting_ with his doctor, before turning to address the two of them. “So, we are here about the sighting. The passengers who saw one of my rockets?”  
   
“Saw? It almost took down a plane full of American citizens. Can you explain how that happened?” Michael was surprised that he had managed to keep a calm demeanor, but inside he was _seething_.  
   
“How about I show you instead?”  
   
He hated that tone, that smirk, that 'holier-than-thou’ attitude. He wanted nothing more than to see that man suffer the way millions of innocent people had by his hand, but he kept a straight face and tried to restrain himself as they followed him outside.  
   
👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽  
   
On their way to the shelter just outside the base, Michael interlaced his hand with Allen's, the connection with the hybrid almost instantly soothing his jealousy and anger, the now-familiar melody once again dancing through his head. Slowly, the electrical current died down, and Allen turned to give him a reassuring smile as he let go, reaching for the goggles they were offered. Michael slipped them onto his face as the other two discussed the rocket.  
   
“So, this is just one of the few prototypes I'm hoping will someday take us to the moon.”  
  
“Looks like a V-2, but modified. Larger fuel cell, higher elevation.”  
  
“An improved American version. We don't call them V-2s anymore.”  
  
“You can call 'em what you want. We all know what they are.” He muttered, flipping down his visor and shoving his hands in his pockets to avoid any… electrical accidents.  
   
The German sighed, turning as someone said something in the foreign tongue that Michael couldn't quite make out before turning back to his audience.  
  
“Gentlemen, I must stress again, no one outside the program has seen what you're about to see.” Von Braun picked up the phone, muttering some German into the receiver that Michael could roughly translate. “ _Let's get started, the countdown is running._ ”  
   
He turned back to them, indicating for them to put down their visors just before the rocket launched.  
   
Michael looked away for a moment, catching Hynek's childlike expression, staring at the spectacle in sheer awe. In the doctor's enraptured daze, he lost focus, the edges of his illusion beginning to blur and flicker, a hint of his bright orange freckles shining through the mirage. He couldn't look away.  
   
For a split second, though, he did. His eyes flicked towards Von Braun, whose proud expression had faltered; he stared at Allen with concern, then confusion, and then he landed on fascination. Michael panicked, reaching for the professor and pulling him away from the threat, drawing him out of his daze.  
   
“Michael?”  
   
“Sorry, I…” he trailed off, shooting a look at the German, trying to somehow tell the doctor what had happened through sheer willpower. “Reflexes, I guess. Don't do well with loud noises anymore.”  
   
Allen stared at him a moment before nodding, seemingly understanding what he meant. He swiftly turned, extending a hand to their host and putting on a gentle smile.  
   
“Oh, right. Well, I think we've taken up enough of your time Mr. Von Braun—”  
   
“Nonsense! You've come to see how my rockets work, let me at least explain. And please, call me Wernher.” The man replied smoothly, letting go of Allen's hand and grabbing his shoulder instead, leading him out of the little shelter.  
   
“Wernher. As much as I would love to stick around, we _really_ should be going. We still have to write our official statements, file a report, clear a few things up with the witnesses—”  
   
“This will only take a minute! The main capsule will reach the upper thermosphere before disengaging and returning to Earth, landing somewhere in the Gulf of Mexico.”  
  
Michael followed them hastily, too preoccupied to notice the flickering lights behind him.  
  
“Since the incident with the plane, we are in touch with local air traffic control. They will even hold flights for us, if need be.”  
  
“Oh, well, they'd… they'd have to. The gyroscope on that rocket's guidance system is only accurate to about 600 meters.” Allen replied, slipping away from the German and making his way back to his partner, grabbing Michael's hand. His own was shaking.  
  
“So now they give you the power to control civilian aircraft.” Michael hissed, glaring at Von Braun, who had stopped walking and turned to look at them.  
  
“Captain, I understand your point of view here.  
I do. But if you want my help, a little courtesy will go a long way. I just broke protocol to indulge your curiosity.”  
  
“Curiosity? We're here regarding a national security issue.” Michael stepped forward, positioning himself between the German and the professor.  
  
“As am I. Defeating Russia in the space race is paramount to America's security in the world, which means my life is committed to protect yours now.”  
   
Just then a military vehicle pulled up, the private from the gate jumping out and giving Michael a salute.  
  
“Captain Quinn, sir. There's an urgent phone call for you back at the base. It's from the Pentagon.”  
   
He nodded, turning to Allen with a concerned expression.  
   
“Are you gonna be ok?”  
   
“Yeah. I shouldn't take too long, you go ahead.” The doctor nodded, squeezing his hand and watching him leave.  
  
👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽  
   
He cursed under his breath, slamming the phone down onto the receiver, the lights above him going haywire as he leaned on the desk, trying to regulate his breathing. It didn't help.  
   
He just _couldn't_ leave Blue Book: not after his two years dedicated to its service, not after finding out his partner was some sort of weird government experiment, not after he got stuck with this _stupid_ electrical thing! He needed to stay— to be there for Allen as he tried to figure out what he was and where he came from. He needed to be there to keep him safe from people like Von Braun that would treat him like a science experiment, he needed to be there to figure out how to get that _thing_ out of him before he became an experiment too… He needed to stay with his doctor.  
   
He sighed, walking out into the light rain and lighting a cigarette. No, he wouldn't just stand by and let some Nazi bastard separate them and ruin his career. He needed to do something about this.  
   
He walked over to the private from before, coming up with a plan to sneak back onto the base late that night. He wasn't exactly sure it would do him any good, but he had to do _something_.  
   
He only stopped when he saw Allen approaching the car, sending Private Wakefield away with a quick salute. He turned to the doctor with a relieved smile, glad to see him in one piece.  
  
“You kids have fun?”  
   
“Well, his rocket theory is a plausible one, but this notion of hovering? I don't know. I'd have to make some calculations based on—”  
   
“Case is closed. That was Harding on the phone. You're gonna have to catch a flight back from here.” He almost choked on the words. He would never admit it, but he was scared: terrified of losing his doctor.  
  
“Why? What's happening?” Allen's face fell, suddenly flooded with worry.  
   
“To you, nothing. I, on the other hand, have just been suspended upon further review for breaking onto a base and jeopardizing America's space program. It's been fun, Doc.” He extended a hand, face set in an uneasy grin.  
   
“You're leaving?”  
   
“I have to. If I could I would stay— there's too much here for me to protect— but orders are orders. I'm… I'm gonna miss you.” He bit his lip, eyes damp. If he hadn't already lost his job, what he would do that night would make sure of it.  
  
Allen shook his head, tears in his eyes, and stepped right past his extended arm to pull him into a hug. He stood still for a moment, stunned, before wrapping his arms around the professor and leaning into the embrace.  
   
He was quick to turn around, getting into the car and driving off before Allen had the chance to see him cry.  
   
👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽  
   
Alcohol. The only thing he could handle right now. Of course, he didn't drink _that_ much. Just enough to drown out the thought of leaving Allen. To ignore the pang of guilt from letting his anger get to his head.  
   
After a few hours of sitting there smoking a cigarette and staring at his drink, a familiar face walked into the bar, standing just in front of his table.  
  
“Uh-oh. Look out. He found me.”  
  
“Well, it wasn't exactly rocket science.” Allen smiled, taking a seat next to him. Oh no. That's not part of the plan.  
  
“That supposed to be funny?” Allen paused, giving him a smirk. Apparently he wasn't keen on leaving Michael either. “I thought you'd be headed home by now.”  
  
“Yeah, I was going to, but then I heard about this great bar where you can get drunk, feel sorry for yourself. So, you know. I thought I'd check it out.” He added with a light laugh, and Michael had to down his drink to keep himself from saying something stupid.  
  
“Sooner I get back, the sooner I have to listen to Harding chew my ass out, so…”  
   
“So, should we get another round, then?”  
   
“Why not?” He shrugged, dragging on his cigarette as Allen addressed the waitress.  
   
“Excuse me. Could he have another one, and I'll have a Macallan, neat?” He smiled, noticing Michael's stare. “What, you think you're the only one needs a drink after a long day? I did get offered a job, though.”  
  
“Von Nazi? I hope you took it. Somebody needs to keep an eye on him.”  
   
Allen looked around, pulling pictures out of his coat and dropping his voice to a whisper, leaning towards the captain.  
   
“I went back and visited the farm. I found these under the path—” He pulled away as the waitress came back, hiding the pictures until she left.  
  
“I found these under the flight path of the rocket.  
You know what a parallax equation is?” Michael stared at him, an eyebrow raised. “Okay, well, then you'll have to believe me when I tell you that von Braun was lying about the trajectory of that rocket. And I think these circles are caused by the launch of some unknown propulsion force. The grass is melted to the root as if heated from above.”  
  
“You're gonna have to help me out here. I been drinking since it was light out.” He lied, acting drunk. He'd only had a couple drinks, but for the plan to work he needed to pretend he was hammered. But first he needed Allen to _leave_.  
  
“Okay, well, during the war, uh, it's rumored that Hitler was developing an alternate propulsion system. Something that would give him the advantage over Allied aircraft. Guess who was supposed to have been in charge of the program? Von Braun is hiding something on that base. The question is, does anyone outside of Huntsville know or is his biggest secret his alone?”  
   
Michael sat in silence as Allen explained, trying to think of some way he could drive the doctor away. He _really_ didn't want to, but he'd have to start a fight.  
   
“Now you want to see things my way, huh?” He slammed a hand down on the table, standing up and turning to the table of Germans behind him, snatching up and downing one of their drinks as Allen apologized profusely. “You know what your problem is? You're so smart, you're dumb.”  
   
He smiled, stumbling and falling onto one of the men, Allen standing to come to his defense.  
  
“Take it easy!”  
   
“Dummkopf!” _Dumbass. How original._  
   
“What'd you say? You're in America. Speak _English_ , assholes.” He yelled, squaring up with the man he fell on.  
  
“We are saying you're a drunken idiot, and you better get home before you get yourself hurt.”  
  
“Oh, I like you. I'm gonna save you for last.”  
   
Michael pushed him back, throwing the first few punches— and then Allen stepped in, pulling one of them off of him and taking a few punches of his own. _No, stop, that's not part of the plan!_  
   
👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽👽  
  
Allen looked terrified— eyes flitting all over the place, hands wringing and quivering. To be honest, Michael couldn't really blame him after what happened earlier.  
   
“Hey. It's gonna be alright. Trust me.” He muttered calmly, giving the doctor a reassuring smile once he looked up, giving him a confounded look.  
   
A little while later the vehicle stopped, and Wakefield ran around the back to let them out. Allen turned back to him, mouth open as if he were about to day something.  
  
“How long do we have?”  
   
“20 minutes till shift change.” The private nodded to him, tossing him the keys to their handcuffs and pulling down the hatch.  
   
Michael immediately set to unlocking the cuffs, Allen leaning forward to address him, looking confused and maybe a little pissed off.  
  
“What is going on here?”  
   
“Turns out, Private Wakefield shares my disdain for German war criminals serving in our military.” He smirked at his partner, pulling the cuffs from Hynek's wrists and moving to hop out of the vehicle, Allen following just behind him.  
  
“A few of the guys who've worked here just up and vanished. Reassigned, they tell us. But it just never sat right. The chain of command you obey, but a fellow soldier is family.” The doctor stared at them, dumbfounded.  
  
“So the fight, getting back onto the base, it was—”  
   
“All a plan, except for you.” He smiled, patting the confused man on the shoulder before turning to his partner in crime with a final salute. “Private, thank you.”  
  
“My pleasure, sir. His office is right over there. Be careful.” Michael nodded, setting off towards the indicated building, with Allen chasing behind him.  
  
“This is crazy, we'll be imprisoned!”  
  
“You're welcome to leave.”  
  
“I— I can't let you do this again!” Michael turned swiftly, catching his partner off guard, stumbling to a stop. “You know I don't trust him either, but this? _This is insane!_ ”  
  
“You ever see what 21,000 people look like after they've been starved? Just left in ditches like trash? I was one of the first to liberate Buchenwald, and I will never forget what I saw or what it taught me. You want to kill a mass amount of people and keep it a secret? You hide it in plain sight. Like maybe you tell the world you're going to the moon, and what you're really doing is building rockets to shoot down airplanes and take out cities. If you want to go, you go.”  
   
Michael turned away, continuing towards the building. It took a moment of hesitation, but soon another pair of footsteps was trailing just behind him.  
   
They walked in silence for a long while, Allen linking their hands again. Michael could feel his anxiety through whatever weird psychic bond they'd formed. He was extremely jumpy, looking around in a panic at the slightest noise. He almost jumped out of his skin when Michael broke the window to unlock the office door.  
  
“You know what Harding told me? The Pentagon want to make him a TV star now, sell the public on the idea of space travel.” Michael seethed as they searched the room behind the windows, decorated with model rockets and fake science equipment.  
  
“Well, yeah… How do you make a Nazi look legitimate? Have Walt Disney give him his own special, beam him right to your living room.” Allen shrugged, making the captain chuckle and shake his head. They walked around a while longer before they came across anything incriminating.  
  
“Doc, come here.” He whispered, peering through the door window. Whatever was in there was vaguely human-shaped, illuminated by a bluish-green glow behind them. Space suits of some kind, maybe, but something wasn't quite right about them. “Shit…”  
   
They crept forward, the pilot reaching out to examine the strange suits. From his peripherals he saw Allen glance around the room, looking for any cameras or anything before dropping his human appearance, his antennae and freckles casting a dim purple light on the uniforms. He held up a hand, the green glow Michael remembered from the plane crash emanating from his palm and illuminating the front of the suit.  
   
“I've flown just about everything with wings at some point. I've never seen anything like these.”  
   
A sudden hiss of air startled them, drawing their attention to something in another room. A large tank, glowing the same color as Allen's real eyes and strange light. Inside of the tank was some sort of humanoid… _thing_ . Allen was the first to approach it, Michael instinctively reaching to pull him back before deciding to follow him instead.  
  
“That's— that's not human, right?” Michael stuttered, staring at the creature in horror. It was a gangly, hairless thing with a bulbous head and protruding bones, it's limbs and appendages just a _little_ too long. It was strapped to all sorts of wires, tubes and machinery. For a second he swore the thing _moved_.  
   
“Well, neither am I…”  
   
The tank hissed again, a myriad of bubbles rising through the water as the creature bobbed up and down.  
   
“What's that?”  
   
“Change in stasis. I bet someone's just been made aware.” Allen muttered as if in a trance, stepping forward and extending an arm towards the creature. As soon as his fingers met the glass, the calm teal color that Michael had begun to associate with the strange doctor shifted to a blaring red, sirens going off overhead.  
  
“All right. We should get the hell out of here.” He said, moving to pull Hynek away from the tank.  
  
“No, wait!” He shook his arm free, pulling a camera out of his pocket and focusing it on the creature. He took a picture before stepping back, addressing Quinn offhandedly. “You need to get closer to the glass.”  
  
“Why?”  
   
“Need something in the foreground to give it scale.”  
   
He complied thoughtlessly, stepping forward and watching the thing wearily. After a moment he forced his eyes away, shaking his head and making his way to the door when he remembered the danger they were in  
   
“Foreground, my ass. Come on, let's go.” He muttered, pausing when the doctor didn't follow. “Doc!”  
   
Allen ignored him, taking another photo instead. He only stepped away when Michael made him, grabbing his shoulders and dragging him out of the room. Allen flinched as the contact shocked him, Michael’s anxiety manifesting in electricity again.  
   
“Come on, we need to _go_ — and hide your antennae thingies before someone sees us!”  
   
Allen shook himself out of his stupor, hiding his real face and finally falling into step beside the pilot as they made their way back to the car.  
  
“Wait, shouldn't we… Shouldn’t we call Harding first? We just found what is either advanced human experimentation or some sort of extraterrestrial creature. I mean, if Harding isn't aware—”  
   
“What if he is? What if we just discovered another one of his stupid projects and done something that might get us both fired?!” He yelled in a hushed  voice, clenching and unclenching his fists and trying to calm down before they reached the car. It didn't take long for him to notice the approaching headlights.  
   
“Let's get out of here!” Allen yelled, running for the door. Michael reached for the handle on the other side, pulling his hand back and cursing when a bolt of electricity shot towards it.  
   
“Shit!” He looked back at the rapidly approaching vehicle as Allen leaned over, opening the door open and pulling him in.  
  
“Come on, go!” The doctor yelled as cars cornered them from all sides, eyes wide. “Oh, shit! Reverse, reverse! Reverse!”  
   
They could do nothing but sit and watch as the vehicles boxed them in, Von Braun getting out to stand in front of them.  
   
“We're screwed…” Michael sighed, cursing under his breath and stepping out of the car, Allen following suit.  
   
“I'm sorry if that was a bit dramatic. I'd hoped you realized these men work for me.” The German drawled, slowly approaching the other men.  
  
“Your own private SS, right? For protection? But we saw that thing you're trying to protect.”  
  
“Oh, you met Albert. My rhesus monkey. First one ever shot into space. Made three rotations before it perished. We keep him to study the effects of space on muscle tissue. One day, we'll put a man up there, and his biology has been invaluable for our research. So, when did you sneak into my office?”  
   
“All right, first off, you lying sack of shit, that was no goddamn monkey—” Michael started, about ready to fight the opposing force when Allen held up a hand, remindimg him to calm down.  
  
“You really put a primate into space? That is— That's incredible, Professor.”  
  
“Thank you. It was also top secret. May I speak to you in private?”  
   
“No, you most certainly may _not_!”  
   
“Michael—”  
   
“Anything you can tell my partner you have to tell me too, got it? We are in this _together_.” He glared at Von Braun, turning to his doctor and interlacing their hands, earning him a small smile. “We're in this together. No exceptions.”  
   
“Ah, I see…” He muttered, shooing away his group of bodyguards and waiting for them all to drive away before continuing with his speech. “Well, I must say I'm disappointed, Doctor. After our last talk, I would have thought you'd come directly to me if you have any concerns.”  
  
“Your parallax theory was a smokescreen. What you described as hovering would have been impossible from a farmer's perspective, to say nothing of the passengers on the plane. So, I did some math and went back out to the property… and I found this.” He mumbled, pulling the photos from before out of his jacket. “These fell directly beneath the flight path of the rocket. If, indeed, it was a rocket, which I doubt that it was.”  
  
“So, I suppose you don't believe it was a monkey, either. The parallax theory was less a smoke screen than an attempt to delay the inevitable.”  
  
“The inevitable what?” Michael interjected.  
   
“Limits of my own imagination. I've seen these markings. I heard about the sightings. I can't explain it, either. I know you went back to the farm. I was hoping you'd find something. Some explanation, something I missed.”  
  
“You don't want that from me or from anyone else. It's why you silenced the farmer with those pigs.” Allen and Michael shared a look, seemingly in agreement.  
  
“I'm not sure what you're referring to.”  
  
“Lying comes so naturally to you now, doesn't it? You're not interested in real science. You use it, yes, for your own political gain. But I guess you're used to that.” Michael smirked, releasing his partner's hand and approaching, challenging the professor.  
  
“You don't know me. You don't get to question my intentions.”  
  
“There is no question. After what you did during the war, it makes sense you're gonna want to be liked now. But you're not fooling me, Professor. I see who you really are.” At the thought of the war his blood pressure spiked, the staticy feeling once again overpowering his veins.  
  
“You still didn't ask why I'm here.”  
   
“We don't give a damn why you're here!” He shouted, the rage bursting out of him in the form of a lightning bolt, shooting out from his arm and striking the ground just in front of the German. Von Braun stepped back to avoid the bolt before turning back to the pilot with an amused grin. Michael stared at the charred earth, then at the professor, in shock and fear.  
   
“How interesting… I knew there was something strange about the doctor, but you, Captain?” He practically _purred_ , stepping towards the two abnormalities in front of him in fascination.  
   
Michael felt Allen's hand grasp at his arm, pulling him away from the German frantically. When he turned he saw bright green eyes and dark purple freckles, stumbling over his feet in his confusion.  
   
“Dammit, Michael! _Run_!”  
   
“Wha—”  
   
“He can't see us but I can't keep it that way for long so just _go_!” Suddenly it clicked. The familiar green glow was surrounding them, and Allen looked exhausted— like he was overexerting himself.  
   
He was using his powers to make them appear invisible. He most likely wouldn't be able to run far, so Michael thought fast, scooping the doctor into his arms and running as far as he could from the base, until he couldn't run anymore…


End file.
